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ANGEL WHISPERS; 



OR, 



mm uw SHUT i eioie. 



DESIGNED TO 



CO¥FOET THE MOrENIXG HUSBAM, WIFE, FATHEE, 
MOTHER, SON AND DArGHTEE. 



BY 



%>"- 



Pastor of the Harvard Street Church, Boston. 

AUTHOR OF " YOUICG MAN'S FKIEND," "YOUNG -VYOMAX'S FKIEND," "DAUGHTERS 
OF THE CROSS," &C. 



" Sure the last end 
Of the good man is peace ! — how calm his exit! 
Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground, 
Nor -weary worn-out winds expire so soft I ** 



BOSTON: 
WENTWORTH, HE WES & CO, 

114 & 116 Washington Street. 
1859. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tlie Year 1855, by 

WENTWORTH AND COMPANY, 

In the Clerk's Ofiice of the District Cuurt of the District of Massachusetts. 






(!&«.*•. v\v v«^la 



PREFACE. 

I The object of this little volume is to 
i^ give comfort to tlie mourner. Tlie autlior 
:^lias lon£? felt tlie need of some book wMcli 
'^ treats upon specific cases of affliction, to 
put into the hands of those whose friends 
c have been taken from them ; and he has 
gathered a number of addresses made on 
funeral occasions, taken away the pulpit 
style, interspersed them with appeals to 
the heart and conscience of the reader, 
and bound them together under the some- 
what fanciful title of " Angel "Whispers." 

His desire is, that the book may prove 
a source of comfort to those who have 
been called, in the providence of God, to 
weep over blasted hopes, and ruined ex- 



PREFACE. 



pectations, and lead tliem away to the 
everlasting source of consolation and hope. 
If it does succeed in the accomplishment 
of this, he will feel that his labor has not 
been in vain. 

May the God of the mourner bless to 
the torn and distracted heart these plain 
and simple instructions, , and make them 
efficacious in drying the widow's tears, and 
imparting joy to the heart of the orphan. 



CONTENTS. 



I. The Victory of Faith, . . . 


. , 13 


II. Death of a Brother, . • • • 


. 29 


III Death of a Sister, . . , 


. . 45 


IV. Death of a Mother, . . • • 


. 59 


V. Death of a Father, , • . • 


• . 79 


VI. Death of a Child, 


.98 


VIT. Advantages of Consumption, • , « 


118 


Vin, The Heavenly Recognition, . • • 


. 144 


IX. The Triple Crown, 


. • m 


X. The Likeness of Christ, . . • . 


169 


XI. Redemption of Time, • • • 


183 


XII. The Six Death Beds, 


203 


XIII. The Door of Heaven, . . • , 


219 


XIV. The Rainbow round the Throne, . 


. 230 


XV. The Mercy Seat 


243 



ANGEL WHISPERS. 



I. 

THE VICTORY OF FAITH. 

The sting of death is sin, and the strength of ein is the law ; but thanks b« 
to God which giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. — Pauu 

What is death ? is a question which thousands 
have asked, but to which no satisfactory answer 
has yet been given. Though death's dark empire 
extends through all time and over all lands — though 
we see his work performed every day we live, there 
is yet a mystery over the grave which no human 
being can solve, clouds which none on earth can 
dispel. The physician can converse intelligibly as 
to the action of the blood and nerves, the action 
of the heart and lungs, and explain to you the 
physical phenomenon of death. The theologian 
can lead you beyond the grave, show you the con- 
nection between this world and the next, and dissi- 
pate all fears which have harrowed up the soul j 



14 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

but neither the physician of the body or tbe mind 
can lift the vail which hangs over the tomb, or 
drive away entirely the mists which descend and 
rest upon the passage between this our world and 
the land of shades. The fear of death arises, to 
some extent, from a natural instinct which is im- 
planted by God in the bosom of every living thing. 
The conscious man looks upon the grave with a 
shudder ; the soulless beast shrinks trom death, as 
if he were endowed with mind and reason ; and the 
unconscious member of the vegetable kingdom nat- 
urally resists that which will wither its bloom and 
destroy its verdure. From man, made in the im- 
age of his God, down through all that has life or 
progress, there seems to be a shrinking back from 
death. 

From whence does this arise ? Surely not from 
the physical distress of dying. It is the universal 
testimony of all who have a right to speak on this 
subject, that the pains of dying are generally few. 
More IS often suifered in a moment in life, than 
from all the pangs of death. Long years ago, be- 
fore the science of medicine was understood, some 
men considered it a mercy to hasten the end of 
those who were deemed incurable ; and various 
modes were resorted to, to procure speedy dissolu- 
tion. Parents stifled their children, and children 
their parents, with much charity, as they supposed, 



THE VICTORY OF FAITH, 15 

to end their sufferings. Scarcely a century asfo, in 
France and England, persons afflicted with hydro- 
phobia were hastened out of the world, that their 
sufferings might be shortened. 

But we have every reason to suppose that no idea 
could be more erroneous, nor any custom more ab- 
surd and cruel. What appear to us to be the 
contortions of physical anguish, are frequently 
merely the effects of disease upon the body, the 
pains of which do not reach the soul. Montaigne 
mentions an instance of death which came under 
his own observation. The body of his friend was 
writhir>g in apparent agony ; cold perspiration ran 
down the cheek, and the dying man gave all the 
usual evidences of the most terrible anguish. His 
friends aroused him, and entreated him to hear their 
voices. He roused, and exclaimed, " Who is it 
that torments me thus'? Why was I snatched 
from my deep and pleasant repose ? Oh ! why do 
you thus deprive me of needed rest V^ 

Men know that death, in its physical anguish, 
does not equal the pains which they suffer in life, 
and which often arise from the most trivial causes. 
The exposure of a nerve in a decayed tooth, the 
breaking of a limb, if we can believe the testimony 
of the dying, has often more anguish than the last 
struggle itself. Hence we must look to some other 
source for an explanation of the universal horror 



le ANGEL WHISPERS. 

of dying. We think the words of Paul, which 
stand at the head of this article, will explain the 
secret : 

The sting of death is sin. 

Whether death would ever have been in our 
world, had sin not entered first, we scarcelj^ know. 
We can hardly conceive of any arrangement by 
which bodies such as we have now could be kept in 
this world forever. And yet we know not how 
much they were changed by the fall of our first 
parents. They might have been imperishable once, 
but changed and corrupted in consequence of trans- 
gression. The body of Christ is now on high ; it 
waits for the last judgment ; it has been incorrupt- 
ible eighteen hundred years, and it may remain the 
same eighteen hundred years to come. It is possi- ^ 
ble, and perhaps probable, that the body of the first 
Adam was like that now worn by the second Adam, 
as the result of his splendid victory over death and 
the grave. If so, it might have continued here 
until the present hour, and Adam might have held 
communion with all his children. 

But whether this would have been the case or 
not, has been concealed from us. It is a thing not 
essential to our present happiness, and is one of the 
points which we shall dwell upon, and understand 
hereafter. But of another fact we are certain. 
While God has left us in ignorance of what would 



THE VICTORY OF FAITH. 17 

Lave become of the body, whether it would have 
remained here, or been removed in some other way to 
heaven, we are not left in ignorance of the fact, that 
death, in its present dreadful forms, was introduced 
into the world by sin, and that sin gives to it its 
sting, and its terror, and its dreadful dominion. 
Were there no sin, there would be no fear of dis- 
solution. If death was the appointed passage from 
earth to heaven, from terrestrial to celestial life, 
man would lie down and die as calmly as he retires 
to sleep ; >he would enter the grave with as much 
composure as he now enters his own dwelling, shut- 
ting the door behind him* 

Whatever physical suffering death brings with 
it, whatever pains and pangs it ministers to its vic- 
tims, whatever fears of mind and dread of a future 
state it yields, may all be set down to the account 
of sin. When you see your friend in anguish — 
when you witness the contortions of his body, and 
hear him tell you of the awful foreboding that all 
will not be well beyond the grave, you may say, 
'' sin, this is thy work !" When you see the 
hearse rolling along to the sepulcher, to deposit its 
burden there — when you see whole families arrayed 
in mourning, and whole communities stricken with 
grief, you can say, " sin, thou hast done this !" 
When you hear from the bloodless lips, and the 
cold grave, and the vailed mourner, and the flood 



18 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

of tears over buried affection, the solemn sentence, 
^' Man goeth to his long home, and his mourners 
go about the streets,'' you may say, " O sin, this 
ruin thou hast made !" 

How often does the parent blame God for the 
removal of his child ! how often does the husband 
murmur at God because his wife is removed ! how 
often is He, the sinless One, made the cause of the 
heavy woes which roll over our way ! How often 
does the dying sinner curse his Maker for those 
frightful visions of future retribution which throng 
around him and flit before him ! But why blame 
God? why complain of the Almighty? Sin has 
done it ; sin is doing it ; sin will continue to do it. 
God did, indeed, take your child, your wife, your 
friend, but sin made it necessary ; and every pang 
which wrung the heart, and every sorrow which 
swept through the soul, was the result of sin. 
Blame that, curse that, hate that. 

But we further learn that 

The strength of sin is the law. 

Where there is no law, sin is not imputed. Had 
God given no law to man, he had not known sin. 
Sin is indeed sin, wherever it is committed. A 
lie is a lie ; theft is theft ; murder is murder, by 
whoever done. The maniac, the idiot, the child, 
may lie and steal ; but to their offense there will 



THE VICTORY OF FAITH. 19 

be no strength. There is no sense of wrong. God 
nor man will hold these persons responsible. They 
are not responsible persons. But let the idiot bo 
gifted with mind, the maniac restored to reason, the 
child gro\s up to manhood, and the law comes in ; 
they are now responsible, and cannot do the same 
sins without fearful guilt. The law is of various 
kinds. The written law, the law in every man's 
own conscience, and the universal conviction as to 
right and wrong. We have the law on paper ; the 
heathen have the law written, more imperfectly in- 
deed, on the heart. Each one is a law unto him- 
self, his conscience accusing or excusing him. This 
law gives sin its terrible strength, alters the very 
character of our transgressions, and places us in a new 
attitude before God. Sin was in the world before 
the law came, but man was not charged with it, be- 
cause his mind was not informed, his judgment was 
not enlightened, and his conscience was not alive. 
There was a time when there was in the world no 
law against polygamy. It was as much wrong then 
as it is now, but the offense was of no force, be- 
cause the law had not forbidden it. But when the 
law came, the arrangement of society v/hich had 
appeared to be a virtue was seen to be a vice, and 
none could commit it without great guilt. " The days 
of this ignorance Gou winked at,'' as a scripture 
writer expresses it, ^' but now commando th all men 



20 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

everywhere to repent.'' Hence we can see the 
reason why men dread the dying hour, and put it 
as far off as possible. They have had a Law, and 
broken it. They are about to enter into the pres- 
ence of the Being who made the law, and pass a 
severe trial. The law is to be applied to them, 
and they are to stand its test. The sinner knows 
he cannot do it. He feels his inability to meet its 
violated and insulted claims. He is the criminal 
conducted by death down through a passage, long, 
dark, damp, and dismal, into the court-room of the 
universe, where, before an assembled world, he is 
to be tried. The sting of every criminal's sorrow 
is his crime ; the strength of his crime is the sa- 
credness of the law he has broken. Arrest and 
imprisonment have no sting, if there be no crime. 
There was no sting to the confinement of Bunyan 
in Bedford jail ; there was no sting to the confine- 
ment of John on the island of Patmos ; nor was 
there any sting to Bunyan's death on Snow Hill, 
or to the decease of John amid the disciples at 
Ephesus. 

The clearer view a man has of the law, the 
keener will be his anguish when he dies. The 
more intimately he has been made acquainted with 
what God requires of him, the more he will shrink 
from an investigation of his course. Hence the 
man who has been brought up under all the blaze 



THE VICTORY OF FAITH. 21 

of Gospel light, who has had Christian parents and 
religious influences, will often feel the most alarm 
• when he lies upon the bed of death. He feels then 
that his little sins are of more consequence and of 
deeper guilt, than the robberies and murders of men 
who have had no light, and have been surrounded 
by no Gospel privileges. The law — the law — gives 
a terrible strength to all his fears, and he enters 
the cold grave with shivering limbs and a trembling 
heart. But for that law, written in the Gospel, 
inscribed on his heart, and repeated every day of his 
life, he might die in peace ; but now there is a 
sting to sin, and the strength of that sin is the law 
which he has broken. 

But the Gospel makes a glorious announcement, 
viz., a victory over sin and death is gained. 

" Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, 
through our Lord Jesus Christ. ^V The victory 
gained by the Chrisian over death and sin is most 
decisive. To secure this great end was one great 
purpose of the Saviour's advent. The sentence 
of death was pronounced upon man, as a conse- 
quence of his transgressions. It came as the re- 
sult of his free, voluntary disobedience to a divine 
law ; it came as an enemy, as a terrible agent, to 
work out the punishment due to sin. *It was call- 
ed, and understood to be, the king of terrors, and 
in this terrible aspect appeared to 'all its victims. 
2 



22 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

The object of Christ's coming was to change the 
relations between death and man, to remove its ter- 
rors, and make the future world yield a prospect 
of happiness and pleasure. This He did first, by 
pouring light upon the grave and upon the future 
state. Before He came, all was dark and dismal. 
The disciples of the old philosophers could learn no- 
thing from their teachers on the subject. Between 
the wisest men and the future state a thick vail 
was drawn, and the glories of the one were con- 
cealed from the blinded vision of the other. But 
Christ astonished the world by the announcement 
of a future life, removed the blank uncertainty 
which was around death, and arrayed eternity in 
new forms of beauty and attractiveness. 

But there is another view in which Christ achiev- 
ed a victory over death, and thus enabled us to share 
His conquest, and become the partakers of His tri- 
umph. By His own death He brought death itself 
into subjection, changed it from a tyrant to a serv- 
ant, and now lives to give all His people deliverance 
from its dangers. There is no view in which death 
may be looked upon by the disciple of Christ as a 
terror. Faith in Christ, as a vicarious atonement, 
entitles us to all the benefits of His crucifixion, in 
which is included a complete and everlasting victory 
over death and the grave. As the believer ap- 
proaches the tombj he find« a thousand lights glowing 



THE VICTORY OF FAITH, 23 

in its once dark abodes ; when he meets with death, 
he finds that the monster's sting has been removed, 
and he who was once the king of terrors has be- 
come the boatman of the Lord to bear His children 
across the dark and rapid ri^er, which divides us 
from our joyful inheritance. Sin was once the 
sting of death, but sin has been washed out and 
blotted away. The strength of sin once was the 
law, but now the law finds in Christ a perfect obe- 
dience, and appropriates His merits to all who live 
in Him. Hence Paul asks, with rapture, " death, 
where is thy sting ? grave, where is thy victory?'' 
The one was torn out ; the other was changed to 
defeat. But for the death of Christ, not one star 
would shine upon the tomb ; not one hope would 
cheer the dying ; not one note of victory would fall 
upon the ear of the lost. But Christ having come, 
liaving entered into the grave, having tasted death- 
for all men, those who believe in Him will conquer 
though they die, and triumph even when they fall. 
Corresponding with this is the dying testimony of 
believers in all ages and climes. The cultivated 
Europeans, and the ignorant and unlettered Hin- 
doos, have been cheered in the last hours by the 
same faith. Sinners out of Christ have found the 
grave as deep and dark, the form of death as ter- 
rible, as ever ; believers in Christ have found the 
grave a resting-place, and death their kindest 



24 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

friend. They have gone down into the tomb, say- 
ing, " When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, 
then shall we also appear with Him in glory •'' 
They do not die : they only sleep. 

" They cannot die, whose spirits here 
Were one with Christ, their living head — 

They cannot die, 
Though the time- wasted sepulcher. 
In which their vestiges are laid. 

Crumbling in dust may lie. 

" They are not dead, whose ashes fill 
The melancholy house of clay — 

They are not dead ; 
They live in brighter glory still. 
Than ever cheered their earthly way. 
Full beaming round their head/' 

But yesterday I read the thrilling description of 
the death of a young disciple, who, trusting in 
Christ, went as calmly down into the grave as to 
her bed at night, and gained, through Jesus, a no- 
bler conquest than ever history recorded for the 
proudest of earthly warriors. To her, death was 
a valley, not of tears, but of life, light, and glory, 
and she walked on without fear. Such a death- 
scene has more true dignity and grandeur than the 
demise of kings 'and emperors. 'Twas thus de- 
scribed ; 



THE VICTORY OF FAITH, 25 

*^ About her chamber glided gently the loved 
forms of her parents, and only sister. She silently 
noted their movements with a mild expression of 
her dying eye, turning it from side to side. Ar- 
rested by her peculiar look, so expressive of afflic- 
tion and patient suffering, they paused to look upon 
her, whom they only saw now but dimly through 
their tears, and so soon should see no more. 

" A feeble effort to speak, a quivering, voiceless 
movement of the lips, drew closely around her the 
loving hearts of that sorrowing circle. Mother, fa- 
ther, sister, all came closer to her side. A playful 
smile lit up her countenance. She laid her little 
pulseless hand within her mother's palm, then 
closed her eyelids to the light of earth, and sank 
away. The cold, damp air of death's shadowy 
valley seemed circling over her. Slowly sinking 
down, she glided toward that river's shore, which, 
like a narrow stream, divides the spirit-land from 
ours. But see ! the quivering lips essay to speak ! 
^ Mother !' how each heart throbbed now, and 
then each pulse stood still. They listen. ' Moth- 
er !' the dying girl breathes forth, ' I — see — a light 
— I'm almost home !' " 

And now her home is in the region of light. 
She walks in white, she dwells with pure spirits, 
and her resting-place is with infinite holiness* 

Another, who was near death — aye, in the very 



26 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

swellings of the tumultuous Jordan — was seen to 
whisper. Kind friends hovered o'er the dying 
form, and listened. No murmur, no complaint, 
they heard, but a sweet and simple lay, breathed 
out from dying lips 1 

" My Saviour, be thou near me 

Through life's night ; 
I cry, and thou wilt hear me: 

Be my light. 
My dim sight aching, 
Gently thou'rt making 
Meet for awaking, 

Where all is bright. 

" Through time's swelling ocean 

Be my guide ; 
From tempests' wild commotion «« 

Hide ! oh, hide ! 
Life's crystal river 
Storms ruffle never ; 
Anchor me ever 

On that calm tide." 

Does it occur to us that we all must die, and go 
to our long home? Death will come to us as a 
kind friend, or as a terrible enemy. If he sees on 
our brow the mark of the Lord Jesus, his master, 
he will do our bidding, nor treat us harshly. If 



THE VICTORY OF FAITH. 27 

he does not behold that mark, he will be, indeed, 
the king of terrors, to hurry us down into his dark 
dominions, along avenues which, though often ex- 
plored, are never lighted by divine grace. 

The death-dirge of the German poet, written for 
himself, in view of his own voyage over a fathom- 
less sea, is now, or will be soon, our dirge and la- 
ment : 

" By the shore of time now lying, 
On the inky flood beneath, 
Patiently, thou Soul undying. 
Waits for thee the Ship of Death ! 

" He who on that vessel starteth. 
Sailing from the sons of men, 
To the friends from whom he partethi 
Never more returns again ! 

" From her mast no flag is flying, 
To denote from whence she came ; 
She is known unto the dying — 
AzAEL is her captain's name, 

** Not a word was ever spoken 
On that dark, unfathom'd sea; 
Silence there is so unbroken, 
She herself seems not to be. 



28 .ANGEL WHISPERS. 

** Silent thus, in darkness lonely, 
Doth the Soul put forth alone, 
While the wings of angels only- 
Waft her to a Land Unknown." 

death ! soon for me thou wilt call — soon from 
the shores of the living my spirit shall be summon- 
ed into the world unknown ; but thanks be to God 
who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus 
Christ. I am now ready to be offered, and the 
time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a 
good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept 
the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me a 
crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the right- 
eous Judge, shall give me at that day ; and not to 
me only, but to all them also who love His ap- 
pearing. 



II. 

DEATH OF A BROTHER 

Thy brother shall rise again. — Jesus. 

In the beautiful life of Jesus, recorded by four 
inspired men, are many sweet and tender scenes, 
in which goodness clothed in flesh is seen minister- 
ing at the couch of frailty and depravity, or mourn- 
ing over the sorrows of bereavement and gloom. 
To the mothers and daughters of Judea, Christ 
was indeed an angel of mercy, moving from dwell- 
ing to dwelling, and from city to city, with the sole 
purpose of binding up broken hearts, wiping away 
flowing tears, and bringing gladness to the afflicted 
and distressed. While the rich, the honored, and 
the prosperous refused to receive Him, the poor and 
desolate welcomed Him to their homes, and carried 
His image on their hearts. 

The case now presented to our minds by the sin- 
gle sentence which stands at the head of this arti- 
cle, is an affecting instance of syinpathy for human 
Buffering, and power in relieving it. 

In the town of Bethany lived two sisters, who 



so ANGEL WHISPERS. 

ministered to the wants of an only brother. Their 
parents were dead, and they lived in the memory 
of the past, unblest by the riches and honors of the 
present. But while denied some of the luxuries 
and comforts of wealth, they had the joys of sim- 
ple innocence and Christian love. They had heard 
the preaching of the Nazarine, had become His dis- 
ciples, and had often entertained Him at their scanty 
board. Their house was open for his friends,' and 
to all the disciples at Jerusalem brother Lazarus 
was known as one who loved the saints, and who 
ministered to their wants. But he became sick. 
The hand of disease was laid upon him, his joys 
withered, and his cheerfulness fled. The first 
thought of the sisters was to send for Jesus. A 
messenger was dispatched to say to the Saviour, 
" Him whom thou lovest is sick.'' On receiving 
this intelligence the Lord exhibited no anxiety or 
alarm. He attended to other matters as usual, and 
at the end of two days called His disciples to ac- 
company Him on His journey, at the same time in- 
forming them that Lazarus was dead. On the re- 
ception of this news, one said one thing and one 
another ; and Thomas, more impulsive than the 
rest, in his love of his departed friend, said, " Let 
us also go that we may die with him.''. Their jour- 
ney commenced. With weeping eyes and sorrow- 
ing hearts they entered the town of Bethany^ and 



DEATH OF A BROTHER. 31 

met Martha coining out to meet them. As soon 
as she saw Christ, she said, " Lord, if thou hadst 
been here my brother had not died,'^ The reply 
of Jesus was calm and firm, " Thy brother shall 
rise again.'' Martha did not understand Him, and 
supposed He referred to the resurrection of the great 
day. Jesus seized the occasion to impress the 
minds of those around Him with a great doctrinal 
truth. From the present "sorrow He carried them 
on to the general resurrection, and declared himself 
to be the resurrection and life, and presented him- 
self as the way by which the dead might live, and 
the living never die. When He had finished His 
discourse He moved on to the tomb, followed by the 
two sisters, the disciples, and a large company of 
the people of Bethany. As He went, " Jesus wept," 
and when He arrived at the grave He freely mingled 
His tears with theirs. His human nature, as weak 
and frail as others, gave way to grief, and with 
groans and tears bowled himself before the sepul- 
cher. The Jews who were around were affected 
by His grief. They saw how sincere it was, and 
said one to another, " Behold how He loved him !'' 
After having wept awhile. He arose and wiped His 
tears away, and commanded that the stone sliould 
be rolled away from the door of the cave in which 
Lazarus was sleeping. Martha, as yet uninformed 
as to the Saviour's purpose, remonstrated, and de- 



32 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

clared that decomposition and decay had already 
commenced. But Christ still persisted. His coun- 
tenance, which a moment since was full of sadness 
and bathed in tears, was now beaming with heav- 
enly confidence. The man had disappeared and 
the God stood before the tomb. The stone was 
taken away, and after breathing a short prayer to 
heaven, the Saviour cried, " Lazarus, come forth. '^ 
A single moment, and deep and awful stillness hung 
over that little company, and but for a moment. 
A rustling was heard within, and out came the 
grave-bound man, and fell weeping into the arms 
of his sisters. In this miracle of Christ we find 
love and power, humanity and divinity, strangely 
and beautifully blended together. In all the former 
part of the scene Christ appears as a man, having 
human weakness and infirmity, and bowing under 
the weight of human sympathy and sorrow. The 
death of His friend seems to have made all the im- 
pression upon Him that it would have made upon 
one of us. He wept as freely. He loved as fondly, 
He sorrowed as deeply as could we on a similar oc- 
casion, and all around were mourning as much on 
His account as on account of Lazarus. The man 
Jesus pervades the scene ; the man is in the fore- 
ground ; the man draws all attention and fixes all 
observation. But soon he rises. His tears are 
gone. His sorrow-stricken countenance assumes 



DEATH OF A BROTHLR. 33 

an expression of jo}^ and hope. New splendors 
beam around his head. He seems cLinging from 
weakness to strength, from sorrow -to bliss, from 
man to God. All around mark the change and 
bow their heads, and while they thus remain the 
order is given, and the dead man, obeying the voice 
of his master, comes out of his tomb. Here is God 
as plainly seen as was the man but a moment be- 
fore ; God conquering death, overcoming the grave, 
and gaining a victory for His friend and follower. 

Who has not lost a brother ^ endeared to us by 
the ties of nature, marriage, or affection ? Who 
has not been called to bury some beloved form, over 
whom we have said with Thomas, ^^ Let us also go 
that we may die with him ?" What heart has not 
been torn by having the bands of nature broken 1 
To that heart comes the joyful intelligence, ^^ Thy 
brother shall arise again. '^ The grave will not al- 
ways hold him. Was he Christ's 1 Did he die 
with faith in Christ 1 Then he will rise ; he will 
leave his tenement of dust; he will come out to 
meet his weeping sisters and his mourning friends. 

If you ask, '' when will he rise T' I reply, not 
now. It is better that he should not be recalled 
to life. No miracle will He put forth to bring him 
back to earth before his time. It is God's will 
that his dust should mingle with its kindred dust, 
be swept, scattered, and dissolved. But on the 



34 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

morning of ^ the resurrection he will rise again 
This corruptible must put on incorruption ; this 
mortal must be arrayed in immortality. The resur- 
rection of Christ is the pledge and proof of our 
resurrection. If the dead rise not, then is not 
Christ raised ; and if Christ be not raised, your 
faith is vain. But now Christ has risen from the 
dead and become the first fruits of them that slept, 
for since by man came death, by man came also the 
resurrection of the dead, for as in Adam all die, 
even so in Christ shall all be made alive. In view 
of such a doctrine, it is not surprising that the 
apostle should launch out into such vehement de- 
clarations of victory over death, and conquest over 
the grave. He knew that no grave could hold him 
long, no worms consume him entirely, no shroud 
forever wind his body. He heard by faith the voice 
of Christ saying to all believers, " Come forth,'' 
and in that great and miraculous invitation he was 
included. The monster death lay stingless at his 
feet ; by faith he rises a victor over the tomb. The 
same hope remains to every child of God. The 
same precious consolation is reserved for every one 
who has lost a pious friend. 

**I can repine at death no more, 
But with a cbeeiful gasp resign 
To the cold dungeon of the grave. 
These dying, withering limbs of mine. 



DEATH OF A BROTHER. 35 

"Let worms devour my wasting flesh, 
And crumble all my bones to dust ; 
My God shall raise my frame anew, 
At the revival of the just. 

" Break, sacred morning, through the skies. 
Bring that delightful, dreadful day ; 
Cut short the hours, dear Lord, and come, 
Thy lingering wheels, how long they staj, 

" Our weary spirits faint to see 

The light of thy returning face ; 
And hear the language of those lips. 
Where God has shed His richest grace. 

"Haste, then, upon the wings of love. 
Rouse all the pious sleeping clay ; 
That we may join in heavenly joys. 
And sing the triumph of the day." 

If you ask, Whei-e thy brother shall rise ? I re 
ply, The spot whereon he fell. ^The scene of his 
death and burial is to be the scene of his resurrec- 
tion. The sod on which you have stood and wept, 
in which you have set sweet floAvers, and to which 
you have loved to repair, will be the spot on which 
his ransomed feet will stand to wait the crown of 
glory which will circle his no longer wasted brow. 
Skepticism will declare this impossible, and assure 
you that the earth is not large enough to hold all 



36 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

who have In successive generations gone down to 
the grave ! But science declares that but a small 
part of the earth will be needed for this terrible 
display, and a late writer has shown by a mathe- 
matical calculation that every objection arising from 
this source is completely unsound. Skepticism will 
tell you that the dust of the body cannot be re- 
collected, that it enters into the composition of other 
bodies, and is lost ; but faith takes up the argument 
and shows that the same power which* first made 
man out of dust can keep his scattered particles 
until they shall be needed at the last day. Skep- 
ticism ridicules the idea that the spirit will descend 
to reclaim its old tenement, and occupy its former 
flesh ; but reason asks, ^' Hast thou forgotten that 
Lazarus, and the son of the widow of Nain, were 
called back again to assume their old habitations^ 
the former after it had lain in the grave four days ;'* 
and adds, " What has been done, may be done 
again.'' i 

How beautiful the thought, that when the trum- 
pet sounds, the dead shall come forth from the spot 
whereon they fell. The sailor who found a watery 
grave will emerge from his long, deep resting-place ; 
the warrior who fell upon the battle-field will arise 
side by side with him who was slain by his own 
hand, their feuds all ended ; whole fiimilies Avill 
stand together on some green spot, which they have 



DEATH OF A BROTHER. 5 1 

purchased, inclosed, and adorned with care ; brother 
and sister side by side will rise and lock their arms 
together, and long-parted bodies be reunited. The 
attention paid to our burial-places, the care bestowed 
upon them, and the love we have for the dead clay, 
after the spirit has ceased to animate it, are the 
strivings of this heaven-taught doctrine, and the 
very skeptic who denies it, obeys its silent teach- 
ings, and acts* upon its noiseless requirements. 

If you ask, How thy brother shall rise? I reply, 
rie died with a corruptible body, he shall come forth 
from his grave with an incorruptible one ; the same 
form, the same flesh, but changed^ and purified, 
and blest, so that it may exist imperishably forever. 

He died a sinner ; he shall rise perfectly purified 
from sin, and prepared for endless being with his 
God. His old habits will be broken up, the desires 
of the flesh shall be subdued, and he shall come 
from his sepulcher with the last impression of guilt 
effaced, the last trace of imperfection blotted out, 
and " holiness to the Lord '^ written upon his heart. 
He entered the grave a sufierer. His very strug- 
gle with death was one of mortal pain. All life- 
long, tears were his meat, and his robes were woven 
of the tangled threads of bitterness. He shall rise 
free from suffering and pain. His tears were all 
shed on earth ; his groans were all uttered here ; 
his sorrows are ended ^rith the last breath of mor- 
3 



38 ANGEL WHIST'ERS. 

t2l life, and in his immortality he knows no an 
guish. 

You saw your brother a man, 

" By sin and suffering tried ;" 

you saw him weep, you heard him groan; but as 
you will behold him come forth from his tomb, all 
these traces will be gone. You loved him in his 
life ; you will love him more when he. rises to the 
dignity of a pure and holy spirit. You admired 
his fair form and features, you thought him beauti- 
ful ; you will admire him more when angels hav€ 
become his ministers, and the life of the skies andi 
the youth of heaven have blushed upon his cheek., 
and mantled over a countenance unstained with sin. 
If you ask for what purpose your brother will 
rise, I reply, He will be raised to be cleared from 
the legal connection he once held with the dark em- 
pire of sin ; to be pronounced innocent by Christ, 
who once bore his* load, and to enter with a glori- 
fied assembly into the presence of God on high. 
He will rise to enjoy all that angels feel of celestial 
love and peace, to swell the anthem of heaven, the 
chorus of the Redeemer, which, beginning upon the 
outer ranks of the hosts of God, rolls inward, 
growing deeper and louder, until it gathers and 
breaks in one full, deep symphony of praise avGund 
the throne, " Worthy the Lamb, who was slain, to 



DEATH OF A BROTHER. 39 

receive honor, and power, and glory, and dominion, 
forever and ever !" 

Viewed in this light, what a glorious idea the 
resurrection is ! How does it destroy the fear of 
death, and take away the dark appearances which 
gather around the grave ? As we look aroMnd, we 
see the work of death on every side. Rank after 
rank is falling on the battle-field of life, and the 
cold earth on which we tread is arched with graves. 
Men die, and leave long trains of weeping friends, 
until earth seems to be one vast burial-field, and 
our race made up of the dead and the dying 
only. 

" The dead are everywhere ! 

The mountain-side, the plair^ the wood profound, 
All the wide earth, the fertile and the fair. 
Is one vast burial-ground ! 

** Within the populous street, 

In solitary homes, in places high. 
In pleasure-domes, where pomp and luxury meet. 
Men bow themselves to die. 

"The old man at his door. 

The un weaned child, murmuring his wordless song, 
The bondmen and the free, the rich, the poor, 
All — all to death belong ! 



40 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

"The sunlight gilds the walls 

Of kingly sepulchers enwrought with brass; 
And the long shadow of the cypress falls 
Athwart the conimon grass. 

" The living of gone time 

Builded their glorious cities by the sea. 
And, awful in their greatness, sat sublime, 
As if no change could be. 

•* There was the eloquent tongue ; 

The poet's heart, the sage's soul was there ; 
And loving women with their children young, 
The faithful and the fair. 

** They were, but they are not ; 

Suns rose and sfet, and earth put on her bloom, 
While man, submitting to the common lot. 
Went down into the tomb. 

"And still, amid the wrecks 

Or mighty generations passed away, 
Earth's honest growth, the fragrant wild flower, leeks 
The tomb of yesterday. 

"And in the twilight deep 

Go vailed women forth, like her who went, 
Sister of Lazarus, to the grave to weep, 
To breathe in low lament. 



DEATH OF A BROTHER. 41 

"The dead are everywhere; 

Where'er is love, or tenderness, or faith ; 
Where'er is pleasure, pomp, or pride ; where'er 
Life is, or was, is death." 

But what of this endless waste of human life? 
What of these continual death-struggles and fune- 
ral processions ? What of these numberless part- 
ings from friends, this wreck of human hopes, and 
this entire destruction of earthly prospects 7 What 
though man, at every step, weeps and groans ? What 
though every avenue of life leads to the graved The 
glorious truth which Christ taught to those weeping 
relatives around the grave of Lazarus, is calculated 
to drown our fears and dissipate our sorrows. 

Martha, '^ thy brother shall rise again.'' " Lord, 
I know that he shall rise in the resurrection at the 
last day.'' Jesus said unto her, " I am the resur- 
rection and the life ; he that believeth in me, thougli 
he were dead, yet shall he live ; and whoever liveth 
and believeth in me shall never die." In other 
places in the Scriptures we have seen Christ in 
other aspects : as the friend of the widow and the 
support of the orphan, as the eloquent teacher and 
the inspired prophet, as the man of sorrows and 
the crucified impostor. Here we see Him as the 
conqueror of death. At other times the winds at 
His command are hushed, the turbulent billows of 



42 ANGEL WHISPERS, 

ocean sink to rest, the surging powers of the hu- 
man heart are quieted; but now we see death 
obedient to His command, and yielding to the 
slightest expression of* His will. The mocked and 
derided One stands calmly before the cave where 
the dead man has lain four days, and with won- 
drous control over the millions of the dead, says, 
" Come forth.''. They who scoff at the resurrec- 
tion, and deride it as a dogma of human creed, 
must see Him there — must hear Him utter His 
sublime command — must see the prompt and im- 
mediate obedience. 

The resurrection is peculiarly a Christian doc- 
trine ; it is peculiarly welcome to the Christian 
heart, and gives endurance and strength to the 
Christian's faith. As a Christian, I love it, and 
rejoice in it. It removes the terrors of death, and 
poijrs around the grave a light so intense and daz- 
zling, that while in the caverns of death I seem to 
be walking amid all the splendors of heaven. Skep- 
ticism may endeavor to demolish it by ingenious 
sophistry; blank infidelity may at once deny its 
truth ; unbelief may cavil and urge objections ; but 
I will believe, and rest upon it my hopes of earth 
and heaven. 

1 remember one who sustained to me the relation 
of a brother. He was my guide through childhood, 
and my heart clung to him as to an only one. But 



DEATH OF A BROTHER. 43 

he was stricken down ; the hand of death took him 
away, and left me alone. I saw him die, one weary 
night, when not a star shone out. We buried him ; 
a long train of mourners followed to the grave, and 
stood weeping there, while cold winds howled 
around. There was a sound which grated on my 
ear when the earth rolled in upon the cofBn, which 
I have often heard as, in the stilly night, my 
thoughts wander back to that sad season, when the 
stricken heart of a widowed mother felt that her 
staff and stay had been removed. A few weeks 
ago I saw that form again. Time and decay had 
made sad havoc on that noble brow, and marred 
that countenance, which once beamed with intelli- 
gence, or lighted up with piety. But as I stood in 
one of the most beautiful cemeteries of the land, 
and looked upon the poor remains of one with whom 
riiad taken sweet counsel, and gone to the house 
of God in company, I heard repeated, in the clear, 
distinct, and silvery tones of Christ himself, " Thy 
brother shall rise again !'' Again I looked into the 
coffin, and saw that now decayed form. Faith at 
once began to transform it. I saw the change. 
The bones and the flesh came again ; the dead 
form arose ; the coffin crumbled ; the grave-clothes 
were scattered ; and, arrayed in new beaut}^, and 
instinct with new life, crowned with glory, and 
adorned in light, the dead came out again to life 



44 ANGEL WHISPERS 

and beauty. It was no illusion, which never could 
be realized, but the deep, mysterious teachings of 
Christian faith. I could rejoice in death ; I could 
shout my triumph over the grave ; I could hail with 
joy the fearful hour when my flesh would see cor- 
ruption, but in my spirit I should see God. 

** Triumphant is the victor's brow, 

Fanned by some guardian angeFs wing ; 
grave, where is thy victory now ? 

4nd where, death, is now thy sting ?^* 



III. 

DEATH OF A SISTER. 

She hath given up the ghost ; her sun is gone down while it was yet 
day. — Jekkmiah. 

God speaks to man in different ways. Once He 
came down Himself, and in the cool of the day, 
walked and talked with the creatures He had made. 
They heard His voice, they saw His countenance, 
and were cheered by His familiar and unbroken 
companionship. 

At another time God came in the flood, which 
swept with desolating fury over a world of sin, 
leaving one poor ark alone to outride the storm, 
and float over the wide watery waste, a striking ex- 
ception to the world's great wrjck. 

Again He came in the thunders and lightning of 
Mount Sinai, when the old mountain reeled and 
quaked, and streamed with living lessons of terror 
and dismay. God was there, in the clouds and 
darkness, tempest and storm, fire and earthquake. 

He was seen in the floods of fire which swept 
over the cities of the plain, and wrapped the tern- 



46 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

pies and ' towers of guilty Sodom in one vast con- 
flagration. 

In gentle tones the voice of Deity has been heard ; 
in the gracious gospel of his Son ; in the revolving 
seasons, and the return cf seed-time and harvest ; 
in the Bible; in the ministrations of the Holy 
Spirit ; and in the numberless changes which are 
occurring on earth. 

He comes. He speaks in every death-bed scene, 
and in every funeral procession. Sometimes to 
nations, as when recently the head of the Federal 
Government was stricken down ; then a venerable 
Ex-President ; and then one of the Judges of the 
Supreme Court. Each of these cases was God's 
voice, echoing and re-echoing through this great 
confederacy of States, and proclaiming to Princes, 
and Senators, and Judges, that death levels alike 
the rich and poor, the honored and the despised. 
Sometimes He speaks to churches, as when a loved 
minister, or a godly deacon, or a valued member 
is removed, and hi^ place in the religious circle is 
left vacant. Again He speaks to families, as when 
a parent is cut down, and a wail of grief sounds 
over the embers which are dying on the hearth- 
stone. 

To-day we mourn a sister, who has fallen in the 
bloom of youth, a victim to the ravages of death, 
like a flower cut down prematurely, or a silken cord 



DEATH OF A SISTER. 4T 

too soon broken by a ruthless hand. Her death is 
the voice of God appealing to the hearts of the 
young, and uttering lessons of wisdom such as rfever 
fell from the lips of sage or oracle. 

1. Her death is full of sadness. We very natu- 
rally dislike to see any enterprise crushed ere it 
has had time to develop itself ; we dislike to see 
any project abandoned ere time has been given to 
test its practicability. But when a young person 
dieSj a glorious enterprise is abandoned, ere its prob- 
able efiects are certain ; a noble project is crushed 
in the very dawning of its glory. 

"We expect the aged to die. They have pursued 
their course; they have lived many years, and 
grown old in the duties and employments of life ; 
and when old age comes on, attended with weari- 
ness and pain, we all feel that death is a welcome 
relief. Tired nature needs repose, and when the 
infirmities of age find rest in the grave, though we 
may miss the society and mourn the loss of our de- 
parted friends, we *yield to the trial, not as to an in- 
supportable calamity, but as to a wise and benevo- > 
lent arrangement, which we would not alter if we 
could. 

Infants also die, and beyond the family circle, 
the event produces no impression. The little one 
was indeed dear to the heart of father and moth- 
er, but the great AYorld careth not when an in 



48 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

fant dies. It is not a common loss ; it is a grief 
"which remains pent up in a mother's bosom, or lies 
like a heavyweight upon a father's heart, crushing 
that to pieces, while beyond, not a thought is cher- 
ished, not a tear is shed, not a pang is felt. The 
busy world sweeps on as ever, and the crowd cares 
not to know whose little one is being borne away to 
the grave. 

These two extremes of life, when they close in 
death, produce the least impression. For the in- 
fant's death few care, and when the old man de 
parts, all are resigned as to an event in the order 
of nature, whose wheels never can be reversed. 

We seldom regret to see the sun set at night, 
behind the western hills. We watch the glorious 
orb as its last parting beams fade entirely away, 
and return to our homes with no emotions of sor- 
row. Nature has done its work ; the enterprise of 
a day has been completed ; the race is run^ and the 
setting of that bright luminary is a sequence of 
nature. 

But should you see the sun arise in the morning, 
ascend the skies, and when the meridian was nearly 
attained, fall suddenly and leave the world in dark- 
ness, a gloom would fill all your hearts. You would 
feel that the work was not completed ; the race not 
fully run. Now when the old man dies, it is the 
sun at night, sinking behind the western hills ; the 



DEATH OF A SISTER. 49 

death of a young person is as the sun falling sud- 
denly from mid-heavensTj and leaving deep shadows 
upon the earth. We feel that the hopes and aspi- 
rations of life have all been crushed by the iron 
heel of death in their opening bloom ; that the niost 
dazzling prospects have faded in an hour. And 
how much of such sadness must we feel to-day ! 
One who has been loved and cherished with much af- 
fection ; who has been the light and the joy of many 
hearts, has been removed from all the scenes of 
earth. A father and mother came and looked upon 
the scene, bade the monster retire ; with all the 
earnestness of parental authority demanded the re- 
lease of their child ; but heedless of their remon- 
strances, the work was done, and before their very 
eyes death placed his signet on this pale brow. 
Brothers and sisters besought the tyrant to depart, 
wept, plead, prayed, and the result you see in the 
cofiin. Her sun went down while it was yet day ; 
her hopes withered like the broken leaves of a tiny 
flower ; her desires of future good, and future pleas- 
ure, lie with her in the grave, and sorrow sits brood- 
ing over the scene with tears and lamentations. 

2. Her death is a warning to the thoughtless. 
Death is a fact and not a theory. Poetry and elo- 
quence may cover the grave with garlands, but its 
yawning mouth is there still ; fine rhetoric may 
weave fancy figures on the door of the tomb, but 



50 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

the tomb remains ; affection and love of life may 
scatter roses along the dark avenues of the sepul- 
cher, but the damp, ,the sickly smell, the horrid 
scenes are not 'taken away. Death is so certain 
thai: few — none can deny it. Life, from the gates 
of Eden down to the present hour, is full of death. 
Huge mounds are filled with the dust of orators and 
kings ; the paths to honor and disgrace are alike 
whitened with human bones, and the thick ranks of 
the living are but the parts of one long procession 
going down to the dead. 

But the matter appeals to us not as a fact but as 
a theory. Like some scientific truth, it forms a 
pairt of our knowledge, but not of our being. But 
when from our midst one is taken away ; not an 
infant whom none knows, and for whom few stop to 
mourn ; not an old man whose course is finished, 
and who has lived all his appointed time ; but a 
sister. in the very bloom of youth and vigor of health, 
the theory becomes a fact, a stern and terrible re* 
ality Men may cavil at an argument, and resist 
an appeal from the human lip, but none can cavil 
at an early death, or resist the appeal made by 
such a fact as has so recently wrung our hearts 
with anguish. 

We are too apt to sa}^,-^^ Age may die, but the 
young, the strong, will not ; others may fall into 
the grave, but I need not fear." One such death 



DEATH OF A SISTER. 51 

as has now taken place, overturns all such philoso- 
phy, and brings the subject home to the heart and 
conscience. Who can gaze upon the memorials of 
stricken mortality — the shroud, the coffin, and the 
pale corpse, and not feel that he has something to 
do with the groans of sickness, and some prepara- 
tion to make for the hour of death. The death of 
a young person utters a testimony and teaches a les- 
son on this subject, which can be drawn from no 
other source. It speaks to those whose aifections are 
warm, whose limbs are active, in whose hearts the 
blood flows freely, and around whose heads cluster 
the richest promises of future love and joy. It 
sa}^s, not to the old man in life's decline, but to 
the young and lovely, " Be ye also ready.'' 

Thoughtless, indeed, must be the man who imag- 
ines he has no preparation to make to meet death, 
no house to set in order, no sin to confess, no 
wrong to repair. All have duties, and every early 
death assures us of the importance of having them 
all discharged. 

3. The death of a young Christian is full of 
glory. It may be asked what glory there is in an 
early death, in the pale, cold symbols of decay. 
True, these things are glorious only in their connec- 
tion with, and relation to other things. There is no 
glory in decay, in a prostration of all the animal 
powers, in being shut up in the tomb. ^ But there 



52 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

is glory in passing away from corruption and death, 
as the spirit — the soul does when death dissolves 
the mystic charm of life. There is glory in a state 
of exaltation at God's right hand, in the ineflfable 
brightness of the spirit world ; in the celestial ra- 
diance of heaven, into which the liberated soul en- 
ters and dwells with God. Suppose near you lived 
a man, who was the inhabitant of an old, shattered, 
dilapidated mansion. As he w^ent out in the morn- 
ing he was conscious that he was leaving behind 
him a starving family. As he returned home at 
night he knew that the first call of those dear ones 
would be for bread, of which he had none to give. 
He had unpaid debts, and needy creditors, and no 
means to liquidate those debts, or cancil those de- 
mands. And suppose, while residing in this miser- 
able tenement, and bewailing his sad lot, a messen- 
ger arrives to inform him that a fortune has been 
left to him with titles and houses, and assures him 
that he is to become the monarch of the nation, 
the loved and the prized of all. Would not the 
news be glorious? would not his removal from a 
house to a palace be glorious ? 

Something like this is the change when a young 
disciple is called home to God. A young spirit is 
summoned from all the sin, error, strife, shame, and 
sorrow of earth to a house not made with hands, 
eternal and on high. Here she is the inhabitant 



DEATH OF A SISTER. 53 

of an old decayed mansion of dust and ashes ; there 
she is the occupant of a throne. Here she is sur- 
rounded with woes which hourly rise to rend her 
heart with anguish, and draw the tears of sorrow 
from her eyes ; there all her tears are wiped away, 
and she complains of sickness no more. Here she 
sins and suffers — suffers and sins ; there she loves 
and sings — sings and loves forever and ever. The 
soul removed from its old, worn-out tabernacle, re- 
leased from flesh, rises on wings sublime, free from 
temptations and all sorrows, to perfect, endless feli- 
city. What she has prayed for, aspired to, and 
longed for, she now receives. She lives for Christ ; 
she is with Christ ; she is like Christ. 

The monarch may talk of glorious thrones, 
princely estates, and royal honors 5 the warrior may 
boast of the glory of battle-fields, of armies de- 
feated, of the furious charge, the mad resistance, 
the splendid victory. But the glory of the Chris- 
tian begins where that of the monarch and the war- 
rior ends. When their wreath fades, his is fresh 
and green. He triumphs in his defeats, and lives 
even in his death. 

Gather all the crowns which ever decorated the 
heads of kings and emperors, in all ages and in all 
climes ; condense their brightness, and gather their 
brilliancy into one costly diadem, and it would not 
shine half as brightly as that which shall be nlaced 
4 



54 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

upon the head of the weakest saint, the moment he 
passes from this vale of tears to ascribe salvation to 
the Lamb. Gather all the honor of the world, and 
blow it out at one blast through the trumpet of 
fame, and it will not equal the honor which the dy^ 
ing saint has in one minute of time. 

No wonder that the Psalmist exclaimed, '^ Though 
I walk through the valley and the shadow of death, 
I will fear no evil;'^ no wonder Paul could cry 
out, '' death, where is thy sting ; grave, where is 
thy victory ;'^ no wonder Halberton, in the midst 
of the most intense bodily anguish, could clasp his 
withered hands in delight and say, ^'Almost there! 
almost there !'' No wonder Everts, the beloved 
friend of a perishing race, could die crying out at 
the top of his expiring voice, '' wonderful, won- 
derful, wonderful glory ! Jesus, I see Him ; I will 
praise Him!'^ No wonder the sister whom we 
mourn could die with a Christian's composure, in 
the firm hope of a glorious resurrection, calmly 
Baying to death, " I fear you not ; come on, 
come.'' 

" I saw her on the bed of death, 
Stern illness paled her brow ; 
I watched her short and fleeting treath, 
And marked her gently bow 



DEATH OF A SISTER. 55 

*' To that grim monarch of the grave, 
Who takes us all in trust, 
And knew that none, but One, could sa\e 
That form from early dust. 

** But all was still and tranquil there, 
There was no troubled swell ; 
Her spirit meekly breathed a prayer, 

Then whispered, ' all is well/ 
'Twas twilight, and a fitting hour, 

For souls like hers to steal 
Away from earth, like some fair flower 
Impressed with heaven's seal. 

** like some bright vision of the night, 

Or like a meteor's ray 
Of brilliancy, upon the; sight. 

She calmly passed away. 
And thus a gentle spirit's gone, 

To seek its home above, 
And mingle with that holy throng, 

With Him whose name is Love." 

To-day, another grave is made in yonder grave- 
yard ; one who has walked, and talked, and sung 
with us ; who has shared our joys and been the 
partner of our sorrows^ is now no more. All that 
remains is the cold clay, and that we must quickly 
bury out of our sight. But while the form has gone, 
the spirit still lingers and hovers over the surviving 



56 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

friends ; though the body is not here, the sweet and 
precious memory of virtue and goodness is left for 
us to cherish. The one who has descended to the 
tomb was loved in life, she is remembered in death ; 
she was prized and honored on earth, she will be 
sanctified in heaven ; and the tender hymn which we 
sang but a moment ago over her pale form, will 
often be sang by those brothers who are now weep- 
ing over her coffin. It will be sung as long as the 
memory of virtue shall continue, and unafiected 
goodness shall be appreciated. 

** Sister, thou wast mild and lovely. 
Gentle as the summer breeze, 
Pleasant as the air of evening, 
When it floats among the trees. 

" Peaceful be thy silent slumber — 
Peaceful in the grave so low : 
Thou no more wilt join our number ; 
Thou no more our songs shalt know. 

** Dearest sister, thou hast left us ; 
Here thy loss we deeply feel ; 
But 'tis God that hath bereft us : 
He can all our sorrows heal, 

" Yet again we hope to meet thee. 
When the day of life is fled. 
Then in heaven with joy to greet thee, 
Where no farewell tear is shed." 



DEATH OF A SISTER. 5Y " 

We would not linger too long over the grave, or 
shed too many tears for bereaved affection. The 
departed one does not need our lamentations. She 
wears a crown of glory now, and a robe of light. 
Her companions are the pure spirits of the upper 
world, and her cup of joy is full. Let us, instead 
of spending our time in weak and unavailing com- 
plaints, lift our hearts to the great God, that the 
bereavement may be sanctified to us. Let it teach 
us humility, and quiet submission to the will of God. 
Let it chasten and purify our spirits, lift us above 
the world and its storms, and prepare us for the 
hour of our own departure, and the end of all things. 
Listen to the beautiful language of another : 

" In the city, while men are brawling in the 
crowded streets, death is entering the secret cham- 
bers, and friends sit pallid by the couches of the 
breathless, or love is drinking in the sigh which 
bears the soul to Heaven. Death is silent ; those 
whose every look spoke to us in life, pass from our 
sight as the shadow from the dial, and the music 
from their words becomes sad echoes in the distance 
of our memory. Death is silent ; living hatred 
thunders in the strife of war, but when the contest 
is over, Death, grim and speechless, is monarch of 
the field. Death is silent ; tempests shriek madly 
upon the ocean, and many are they who sink with 
this requiem into their fathomless grave ; but from 



58 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

the depths of that sublime sepulcher, no sound 
comes back to tell of those who perished. Death 
is silent ; yet not so entirely ; silent it is to the ear, 
but not always to the heart ; our brethren are still 
bound to us, and though dead, they have not ceased 
to be. There is much to be felt and learned where 
they rest. 

" Humility has instruction from the proud man's 
monument, and content a lesson from the vanity 
that overlies his clay. There is pathos in the soli- 
tude where the stranger sleeps ; there is mute elo- 
quence on his unlettered grave ; there is beauty in 
the poor man's epitaph, inscribed honestly by affec- 
tion ; there is sublimity in the rude sculpture of 
the peasant's tomb, when it is the effort to symbol- 
ize an immortal faith. And it is such faith which 
takes terror from the power of death, and despair 
from the silence of the grave. There is that in us 
which is not all clay. That which belongs to earth 
must go to earth ; but when earth claims and gets 
back its atoms, God gathers up and calls home His 
spirits.'^ 



IV. 

DEATH OF A MOTHER. 

I bowed down heavily, as one that mourneth for his mother. — David. 

Infinite wisdom has been displayed in the 
arrangement of human society. A wise division has 
been made by Him who cannot err, and to one has 
been given the oflSce of ruler, and to another the 
condition of subject ; to one the honor and authority 
of parent, and to another the obedience and love of 
the child. These stations, growing naturally out 
of the wants of our race, are continually changing. 
It is God's plan that the subject of to-day should 
be the ruler of to-morrow; that the child now, 
should ere long become the parent. 

These relations involve in a greater or lesser de- 
gree of responsibility, and out of each specific re- 
lation will flow, and must flow, specific duties and 
obligations. The child is bound to love and obey 
the parent ; the parent is bound to love and protect 
the child. The relation existing between these 
parties, and the obligation which grows out of it, 
is not fixed by conventional usage, nor by l^gal stat- 
utes, nor by the Holy Scriptures, alone. Human 



60 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

nature itself owns the tie which binds the mother to 
the daughter, and the father to the son, and where- 
ever that nature is found, be it in savage or civil- 
ized life, we find the relation existing, and, to a 
considerable extent, the obligation recognized. The 
wildest heathen mother clasps her babe fondly and 
tenderly to her bosom ; the rudest savage of the 
forest will sacrifice his own life for his infant child ; 
the wretched murderer, whose hand is red with 
blood, whose heart is polluted with crime, whose 
feet are swift to do wrong, and whose public life is 
against all that is good, and true, and pure, and 
virtuous, will steal home from his wanderings, to 
gaze, unseen and undetected, at some lonely even- 
ing hour, upon his family. The fierce outlaw, 
whose whole existence is a monstrous outrage upon 
civilization, and for whose head a reward is offered, 
and upon whom a price is set, will turn from his 
career of blood, leave his companions in crime, and 
stay his murderous hand long enough fb caress, 
with all the warm gush of a father's^ kindness, his 
offspring, and show that there is yet one spot in his 
heart which love can reach, and around which inno- 
cence yet lingers. 

These relations, instituted by God, regulated by 
the gospel, and sanctified by grace, become doubly 
strong, and give to this vain, perishing, and suffer- 
ing life much of its pleasure and profit. Hence, 



DEATH OF A MOTHER, 61 

when they are broken up by death the deepest sor 
row extends through the whole circle, and those who 
survive, shed^many and bitter tears over those who 
die. 

But of all the losses which we are called to sus- 
tain, few are more sad than the decease of the 
mother of a large family of children. When one 
such departs, the tenderest feelings are stirred, and 
the deepest emotions of sorrow overflow the souL 
The friend and guide of our youth departs ; the 
partner of our infant joys and sorrows, the 
sharer of our maturer prosperity and adversity, the 
kind companion and adviser, is laid in the grave, 
no more to be seen or loved on earth. 

The loss of such a mother some deplore to-day. 
Inexorable death has come into one of our families, 
and in a single week wrought a work which months 
and years cannot repair ; made heart- wounds which 
no lapse of time can heal. Unstayed by prayers 
and tears, he has performed his task, as if entirely 
heedless of the consequences, and hurried a duti- 
ful daughter, a kind sister, an affectionate wife, and 
a devoted mother, down into the long, unbroken 
silence of the tomb. My work, on this mournful 
occasion, shall be to speak of a few things which 
render the parting of a pious mother from her 
children a source of unusual sorrow. 

1. The intimacy of her relation to them. No 



62 ANGEL WHISPERS, 

person on earth comes so near to the heart of a 
child as the one addressed by the endearing name 
of " mother.'' The father may be fondly and ten- 
derly loved, and other friends may be valued highly, 
but there is a spot unfilled except by a mother's 
form. It is her part to watch for the first signs of 
dawning reason, to defend her infant one from dan- 
gerous damps at night, and chilling blasts by day, 
to supply the food by which life is supported, to 
hang over the couch in sickness, to nestle in hsr 
bosom when dangers are abroad. God in His wis- 
dom has so arranged, that to her is committed the 
early culture of those whom He from time to time 
commits to her charge, and they grow up with a 
confidence in her which no other person can receive. 
All through childhood the mother's character and 
daily life is the study of her children. If she kneels 
in prayer, they mark the act ; if she weeps, they 
see her tears ; if she is sick, they listen to her sighs ; 
if she is glad, they share her pleasures ; if she is 
ajQBiicted, they feel that a cloud has covered them, 
though they may not know the cause. From a 
husband a woman may conceal her joys and hide 
h^ sorrows ; deep in her own heart she may bury 
from the world all her anxieties, but alone with her 
children they will gush out. Thus the child grows 
up, feeling that his mother cannot say a wrong 
word, nor do a wrong act. All his little sorrows 



DEATH OF A MOTHER. 63 

he pours into her bosom — all his trifling losses he 
unfolds to her, and her advice is law to him in all 
his childish sports. A tie is formed which can 
never be broken, and to her gentle heart she binds 
her son with cords of love. Go to the abandoned 
wretch who is lost to home, to family, to society, to 
all that is lovely and of good report — go to him in 
his dungeon, where he awaits a felon's doom, and 
you will converse long with him ere he will feel. 
All the consequences of his crimes he will review 
with cool, calculating hardness ; all the motives 
which can be drawn from the loss of the soul and 
the loss of heaven he will resist. Even the Cross 
of Christ and the love of Calvary he will spurn 
as unworthy of his consideration ; but, touch his 
pious, sainted mother, whom he followed to the 
grave long time ago ; carry him back to the tinie 
when she took him upon her knee, and taught him 
to pray, " Our Father who art in Heaven,'^ and 
you will soon see the tears flowing down his har- 
dened cheeks ; his voice will tremble as he replies 
to your kind advice, and you will find that deep in 
the heart is 'a place consecrated to a mother's 
memory, into which the passion of crime has not 
yet entered. The name of his mother carries him 
back beyond his crimes, beyond his hardness, be- 
yond his first departure from the path of rectitude 
to the sunny days of innocency, when at night he 



64 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

could lay his head upon her bosom, and slumber as 
sweetly as an angel ; to a time when — 

" Innocence upon the breast of love. 
Was cradled in a sinful world like this." 

This aiFection, which outlives time, and changes, 
and crimes, and sorrows, is the result of that holy 
intimacy which ever must exist between a good mo- 
ther and her children. And when she is taken 
away, her death causes a dreadful chasm in the 
family circle, which it is hard to fill or heal. To 
whom can the child go when weary and faint 1 On 
whose breast can the aching head be leaned ? And 
whose hand shall wipe the cold brow when the 
death damp is upon it ? The father may love, pity, 
and pray, but his hand was made for a rough con- 
test with the world, and not for such tender offices. 
Who like a mother can listen to the tale of tempta- 
tion, and affliction, and distress? What counsel- 
or and confidant can a daughter have like her, in 
all her plans for life ? Home without a mother, is 
a tree without leaves ; a hearth-stone without fire ; 
a night without a moon. 

2. The child is peculiarly dependent on the mo- 
ther. There may be intimacy without dependence 
in some relations, but not in this. And here the 
dependence does not consist in the supply of food 
and raiment ; a father's means may purchase all 



DEATH OF A MOTHER. 66 

these, after the mother has departed. The hundred 
kind attentions which we need from infancy to 
manhood, and which none but a mother thinks of ; 
the duties which stretch themselves along from the 
cradle to the battle-field of life ; the unobtrusive 
charities of home, depend on her. From the very 
nature of the case, the father cannct think of them, 
nor attend to them. His work is beyond the limits 
of the family circle, and with the sun he goes forth 
to toil. God has never made it his duty to act 
the maternal part, or be at home while he is 
abroad. His time in his family is of necessity lim- 
ited ; his opportunities for impressing divine truth 
upon the younger members of his household, of 
necessity, few. He has cares of business, cares of 
church, cares of state. Now, he sits up late at 
night poring over long accounts ; now, he leaves 
his home, and crosses rivers, and perhaps oceans, 
to promote his interests, which are identical with 
the interests of his family ; now, perplexing schemes 
harass his mind and draw off his thoughts ; the 
failure of a bank, pressure in money markets, the 
erratic course of commercial enterprise, the thousand 
changes of business life, all prevent him from attend- 
ing to his family, and unfit him to exert that whole- 
some discipline and influence which he might, were 
he always at home. Hence all this must come 
upon the mother. It is her influence, and example, 



66 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

and precept which must lead her offspring to pray 
er. She must teach him the hallowed and divine 
ideas of God; she must lead him to a throne of 
grace, and unfold to the opening mind the utility 
and pleasure of this duty. She must superintend 
his early education, place in his hands proper books, 
instruct him in the things which are excellent, and 
hold him back from the knowledge of evil. She 
must cultivate the moral nature, and implant in 
the tender and plastic soul those high ideas of right 
which will enable him to shun the bad and pursue 
the good. No teacher of literature or religion can 
undo the lessons impressed upon the mind and 
heart by the mother ; and that mother who allows 
the stranger to form the rising years, and the un- 
folding minds of her little charge, is doing them an 
irreparable injury. If we will look back over the 
great names to which our world has given birth, we 
shall iBnd that almost every thing is to be attributed 
in the work of making great men, to mothers. The 
mother of John and Charles "Wesley reared a large, 
family of children, and their education and early , 
training was wholly superintended by herself. The 
trust committed to her keeping was too sacred toj 
be intrusted to others, and though crowded bj 
other duties, assumed the whole work herself 
What John Wesley was, and what the vast de- 
nomination which bears his name now is, may^ 



DEATH OF A MOTHER. 67 

under Goc!, be traced to the influence of a good 
mother. John Newton, when but four years old, 
had been taught by his mother to read in any part 
of the Bible, and had committed all the questions, 
answers, and proofs in the '' Assembly's Short Cate- 
chism,'' and could recite readily many chapters 
from the Old and New Testaments. His mind was 
formed by a good woman, who loved God and un- 
derstood her duty to her children, and though she 
died when John was seven years of age, and he was 
left in the care of a stern, cold, cruel man, yet the 
world and sin could not blot out those seven years 
of holy light and influence. The memory of these 
blessings followed him into the world, through the 
dark labyrinths of infidelity, and at length in the 
employment of the Holy Ghost, they brought him 
to the feet of Jesus, and made him a humble min- 
ister of righteousness. 

Oberlin ascribes his conversion and his future 
good, and all his usefulness to the influence of his 
mother. His biographer says of her, " She was, 
indeed; a truly admirable woman, and conscientiously 
endeavored to bring up her children in the nurture 
and admonition of the Lord.'' She was in the 
habit of assembling them together every evening, 
and of reading aloud some instructive book, while 
they sat around the table, engaged in childish oc- 
cupations ; and scarcely a night passed, but when 



68 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

on the point of separating, there was a general re- 
quest for " one beautiful hymn/' with which she 
generally complied. The hymn was followed by a 
prayer ; and thus their infant steps were conducted 
to Him who has said, " Suffer little children to 
come unto me.'' Under such teachings the mind 
of Oberlin became impressed with the importance 
of loving and serving God, and was finally led to 
the Lord Jesus Christ. Cecil once said, " I should 
have been a bold, blaspheming infidel, but for my 
mother, who contmually dropped things in my 
way." Dr. Buchan says of his mother, " She was 
the hand ever pointing me to Christ." 

Such instances as these could be multiplied to 
almost any extent, going to show the influence of 
mothers upon the minds of their children,, and prov- 
ing most conclusively that to her, far more than to 
the father, is committed the early development of 
the youthful intellect and heart. 

Nor does this dependence cease with childhood. 
But few of us ever outgrow maternal care until she 
who has watched over us has been laid in the grave. 
Who is it that sits up at night, watching for her 
wayward son and daughter, that they may not retire 
to rest cold, and faint, and hungry ? Who is it that 
has a kind word and a cheerful look, and an open 
heart for the wanderer, long after the world has 
given him up as losti Who goes to God in prayer 



DEATH OF A MOTHER. 69 

when the wife of his bosom has thrown him oflF, and 
his own children have disowned him, and the world 
has cast him out ? Who wakes at night to weep for 
him, while he wanders in distant lands, or rides on 
billows deep and dark, or sits in dens of woe, or 
starves on foreign soil, without a home? Who 
plies her needle until the noon of night, that she 
may earn a pittance to make him comfortable? 
What hand is the most active when he is sick, and 
what heart bleeds the freest when he dies.? 

A traitor was once condemned to death, and 
stood in sullen silence awaiting his execution. His 
family came to bid him farewell. His father ad- 
vanced and cursed his traitorous son. His sister 
came and spit upon him, saying, '^ You have acted 
a traitor's part, receive a traitor's reward." His 
wife came, and pointed at him the finger of scorn, 
and taught his own children to hate him, for his in- 
justice to his bleeding country. And last of all, 
his mother came, and when she saw him, her heart 
relented, and she fell upon his neck and wept, ex- 
claiming, " My son ! my son !" 

Now, when a good mother dies, all this depend- 
ence ceases. The thousand little acts, and kind 
words, and judicious advice ends, and one of the 
truest friends ever given to man in his pilgrimage 
of sorrow is lost. The hand that often placed the 
cordial to the lips lies still in death ; the lips which 
5 



70 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

have uttered such kmd words, and offered so many 
prayers, are motionless ; the heart which has so 
many weary years beat with such fearful intensity 
for the welfare of her children, is pulseless. The 
weary watch has ceased ; the undying love is ended 
the tears have all been shed, and the last gush of 
maternal tenderness has had its flow. We cannot 
be surprised that the Psalmist, when he wished to 
portray his deep and unaffected sorrow at his 
repeated disasters, at the treachery of his friends 
and the hatred of his foes, at the deep and success- 
ive waves of sorrow which were rolling over him, 
should declare that he was bowed down as heavily 
as one who was sorrowing for his mother. 

3. A mofher^s loss is irreparable. Nothing can 
be substituted in her stead. The father, indeed, 
may do much to amend the calamity. He may 
withdraw his attention from the pursuits of life to 
watch over his motherless children ; he may increase 
his attention to every want, and ever be on the 
watch to anticipate every wish ; but he is the father 
still, not the mother. God has given us two 
parents, and one cannot fill the place of the other, 
any more than the sun can fill the station of the 
moon, its paler and more gentle rival. 

A husband or a wife can do much to make amends 
for the loss of a mother ; but no husband or wife 
can fill a mother's place. God has not so designed 



DEATH DF A MOTHER. 71 

it. The relations are different, and from the very 
nature of the case one does not supersede the bles- 
sing of the other. 

The brother or the sister may be kind, and, 
attentive, and amiable, but the love of a mother, 
a brother does not know, and to it a sister is a 
stranger. All these and others may come in, and 
with angel goodness endeavor to heal the wound, 
and bind up the aching heart, but not one of them 
is the mother that gave thee being. Such being 
the case, we look upon the death of the mother as 
one of the greatest calamities which can befall a 
happy and united family. There are, indeed, 
sources of hope in her death, if she be pious, and 
yet the nature of the loss is such that we can hardly 
estimate its solemnity, or gauge the depth of its 
anguish. It comes to the children, be they old or 
young, as the crushing of their dearest friend, as 
the sundering of their dearest ties, as the loss of 
their most valued counselor. We wonder not that 
children go so often and so sadly to the places 
where the ashes of their departed parents sleep ; 
we wonder not that they love to decorate the tomb, 
and plant flowers upon it, that all may not seem 
lonely and cheerless there ; w^ wonder not that they 
grieve, and sigh, and lament, for a good mother is 
worthy of more tears than were ever yet shed over 
a human grave. 



72 ANGEL WHISPERS, 

The conclusion then to which I come, and the 
thoughts which I would deeply impress are, that we 
should respect good mothers whil^ living, and 
remember and honor them when dead. While we 
have our parents we are apt to esteem them lightly. 
Like all other blessings, they are not truly valued 
until they have fled from our embrace, and we are 
conscious that they are gone. The faults of youth, 
and even of mature years, may generally be traced 
to a disregard of parental, and especially maternal 
advice and counsel. Situated as the mother is, 
away from the world, and on a higher vantage 
ground, she can see things through an atmosphere 
less murky than the prejudices by which the chil- 
dren are often surrounded. She is able to foresee 
dangers, where her less experienced and more im- 
pulsive offspring behold nothing but sunshine and 
delight. Many a son would have been held back 
from intellectual, social, and moral prostitution, 
had he not despised the counsel of his mother, and 
set at naught the wise and judicious advice which, 
in the goodness of her heart, was tendered. Many 
a daughter would have saved herself many a heart- 
pang, and many tearful scenes, had she trusted to 
words of sound judgment and discretion, which 
were uttered ere she left the parental roof to find a 
home among those who have no interest in the wel- 
fare of her soul. I would urge thee, then, if thou 



J 



rSATH OF A MOTHER. 73 

hast a mother, to respect her now, to value her now, 
and abide by counsels which may secure thee from 
hours of sorrow and distress. 

And when she dies cherish her memory. In a 
graveyard, in a neighboring town, is a plain white 
slab standing over a grave, and on that marble is 
inscribed these simple words, " My Mother.'' 
And what could express more truthfully and beau- 
tifully the higher characteristics of a woman, and 
the respect which her children entertain for her 
resting place, than this simple memorial. 

" My Mother ! at that holy name 
Within my bosom there's a gush 
Of feeUng, which no time can tame, 
And which, for worlds of fame, 
I would not, could not crush." 

I have been led to these remarks by the decease 
of a mother of a large family within a short distance 
of the house of our solemnities. By her removal, 
an aged father has been deprived of a daughter, 
whose delight had been to minister to his comfort ; 
a husband is left to mourn over one who has been 
with him in joy and sorrow ; with whom he has 
taken sweet counsel, and whose life has been iden- 
tified with his, through a long series of years ; and 
the children are deprived of a mother who has 
sacrificed her cwn comfort, and ease, and welfare, 



74 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

for their good ; who ias employed herself in devis- 
ing plans and executing purposes for their happi- 
ness ; who has studied to make them happy here, 
and prepare them for lasting joys hereafter. For 
such a wife and such a mother tears should be 
freely shed, and He who wept over the body of His 
friend Lazarus would not stay them. A meek, 
humble, quiet life of domestic experience has closed, 
and the friend who has followed you with so much 
kindness through life, has ended her labors, and 
entered upon her reward. Thy lovely home will 
no more echo with the tones of her voice, thy table 
will no more be spread with the offerings of her 
toils ; thy heart will no more be cheered by her 
kind attentions. 

Summon to your aid and comfort her memory ; 
review her life of unostentatious piety ; consider 
her present felicity, and when tempted to wish her 
back to toil and weep, and suffer and die again, let 
her beatified state, and her heavenly condition, stifle 
each murmuring thought, and drive from the lips 
each discontented expression. Let the sad bereave- 
ment lead the afflicted husband and his weeping 
children to the throne of grace, to seek before God 
that humble trust and faith which will enable them 
to conquer death and overcome the grave. The 
spirit of your sainted sister, who in the spring-time 
was laid to rest, came to call your mother home, 



DEATH OF A MOTHER. V5 

and soon she may be commanded to summon you to 
the upper world. More than half of your family 
have already gone, and you only wait the bidding 
of Jehovah. 

A few days since, you and I looked down into 
that tomb in a distant town ; it was dark, and cold, 
and cheerless ; the mouldering coffins, and the 
sweat of the grave, and the stillness, were there. 
Thou wast looking then into thine own home, and 
gazing upon the place in which your bones will re- 
pose. The sight was sad and salutary, and as we 
turned away, methought I heard within a voice, 
and echoed by the rustling leaves, 

" Roses bloom, and then they wither. 

Cheeks are bright, then fade and die ; 
Shapes of light are wafted hither, 
Then like visions hurry by." 

The death of a person under the circumstances 
ir. which our sister left the world, is admonitory to 
all. It reminds us painfully that families now hap- 
py are to be broken up by the iron hand of death, 
and there is as much prospect that in two weeks 
hence other mothers will be laid in the grave, 
as there was two weeks since that the deceased 
would be placed ere this in the tomb of her kin- 
dred. No dependence can be placed on human 



76 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

life. All we can say is, that we have it now ; that 
it is still continued, but how soon, like a withered 
flower, it will disappear we know not. 

" Change is written on the tide. 
On the forest's leafy pride ; 
On the streamlet gleaming bright, 
On the jeweled crown of night." 

How important that our houses be set in order ; 
that our duties be all performed ; that our accounts 
for the last settlement be made up, and our souls 
all ready for the coming of the Son of Man. At 
this mournful season of the year, we are reminded 
on every side of the transitory state of all things 
earthly. Decaying nature is an emblem of man. 
The sere and yellow leaf falling to the ground, a 
withered thing, tells us of mortality. The blight 
and the mildew are on all around, and like those who 
have gone before us, we are descending into the 
tomb. 

And how vast the number who have made no 
preparation for the solemn exchange of worlds ! 
Hurried 4fcOn by time with incredible velocity, and 
Hearing the grave, the home of all, they dream only 
of this life. The flowers ' bloom and wither, but 
they do not heed the admonition ; the tree puts forth 
its leaves, sweeps them on the air awhile, and casts 
them to the ground ; the cloud arises, hangs over 



DEATH OF A MOTHER. 77 

the world, weeps a few tears on man, and disap- 
pears ; the rainbow spans the heavenly axch, and 
shines in all its splendor and beauty, and fades 
away ; but none of these figures of our fate are 
improved by the thoughtless crowd. 

" Who ever hastening to the tomb, 
Stoop downward as they run/' 

Mothers and fathers die ; sons and daughters are 
laid away in the cold earth ; brothers and sisters 
go down into the shades, but men and women live 
amid their tombs, in all the thoughtlessness of 
vanity. 

How insignificant does all things below appear, 
when we consider the end we are approaching. A 
man is diligent in business, and becomes rich ; his 
storehouse is full, and his coffers are almost inex- 
haustible, but when he has it all accumulated he 
dies, and leaves it all to be consumed by others. 
He seeks for worldly honor and distinction, and 
soon the applauses of his excited fellow-men fall 
upon his ears, and when comes to his grateful ears 
the wildest and freshest burst of gladness, death 
whispers in his ears, " Thy time has come,'' and 
huddles him away. He engages in the chase for 
pleasure, and everywhere pursues the bursting bub- 
bles of this world, and when he has his hand on 
them they perish, and he lies down to die, feeling 



78 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

that the great object of his being has not been se- 
cured. How worthless, in this view, are all the 
employments of men ! For what are these splen- 
did cities founded 1 for what are these steamships 
built ? for what is this thousand miles of railroad 
laid ? for what are colleges erected, and asylums, and 
manufactories ? to what does all the industry of the 
world tend ? To the fires of the last conflagration, 
to the general destruction which awaiteth all things. 
On this earth all that has any permanent value is 
the SOUL — the soul, which will outlive the destruc- 
tion of the body which it has served as a dwelling- 
place — which will survive the wreck of the last 
general judgment — which will pursue its onward 
way over the vast fields of the future, rising higher 
in the clouds of light, or sinking deeper in the 
waves of death. 

Back from the grave of our departed friend and 
sister, the wife and mother of this family, comes a 
sound of warning to us, " Be ye also ready, for in 
such an hour as ye think not, the Son of Man 
Cometh.'' 

" Hark, from the tombs a doleful sound, 
Mine ears attend the cry ; 
Ye living men come view the ground 
Where ye mus^. shortly lie." 



V. 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 

Now, therefore, let me go up, I pray thee, and bury ray father.— 
Joseph. 

Death is not an uncommon event. Every day 
these streets echo to the clattering footsteps of the 
funeral procession. Children at their play stop to 
gaze at the hearse as it moves along slowly and 
sadly. Every night some pillow is wet with tears, 
and every day some heart throbs and bleeds. " It 
is appointed unto men once to die,'' and that ap- 
pointment has spread dismay and terror through 
every lane and avenue of life. 

The pale horse, with Death for its rider, has 
broken loose from its confinement, and is now 
trampling, with iron hoof, over the loveliness of 
the domestic circle, and the sacredness of the 
house of God. No place — no man — no condition 
is exempt from its intrusive awfulness. It marks 
its victim with a hectic flush — a burning brow — 
a fevered countenance, or a consumptive cough, 
and never loses sight of him until the work is 
done. It is useless to fly from the destroyer. He 
will find you amid the storms and tempests of our 



80 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

own land — he will follow you to other climeSj and 
cut you down in the midst of friends or foes. 
In pursuing this subject farther, I will present 

I. The elements which constitute the triumph of 
death. 

II. The elements which will constitute a triumph 
over death. 

The awfulness, terror, and triumph of death 
arises, first — From the alai'ming uncertainty of 
the future state. Death has been appropriately 
styled '^a leap in the darf — an uncertain trial of 
an unknown existence. Had some adventurous 
traveler entered into the grave — explored its un- 
known recesses, a new aspect would be given to 
the whole subject. But, as the pilgrim enters the 
grave, the door of the sepulcher closes behind him, 
and he never returns. We accompany him to the 
tomb, he enters, and we see him no more. We 
strive to catch a glimpse of his condition, but dark- 
ness envelops it, and the longer we gaze the more 
are we perplexed and confused. Hence have arisen 
the notions which men cherish on this subject. 
One makes death " an eternal sleep," another 
informs us that the soul loses its own identity in 
the Deity, while a third contends that the souls of 
the wicked will be annihilated, and the souls of 
the righteous will live on forever. Some say that 
the spirit of man at the death of his body, will en* 



( 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 81 

ter into the frame of brute beast, swimming fish, 
or humming insect. Others say that spirit is the 
angel part of man — that the angels were men once, 
and men will all be angels. Some say. that men 
will be happy in a future state ; others say that 
the righteous will be happy, and the wdcked miser- 
able. Uncertaint}^ — dark uncertainty is over the 
whole subject. Philosophy with her sages, her 
ponderous volumes, and long array of names — 
Science Avith her experim,ents, her fires and cruci- 
bles — History with her full pages and romantic 
realities, have never cast out one gleam of light 
upon the grave ; and to-day, after millions have 
died, and passed aw^ay to their long home, we de- 
rive no instruction from them in regard to the fu- 
ture state. Philosophy tells man to die calmly, for 
that is honorable and manly. Science teaches him 
how his body may be embalmed and preserved from 
corruption. History informs him that thousands 
have died in triumph ; but neither of them have 
any thing to say in relation to the deathless spirit. 
Consequently, when the s^oul plunges off into eter- 
nity, it knows not whither it is bound. An awful 
blank is spread out before it. Its dreams in this 
life have been dreams of happiness, but what its 
dreams may be beyond the grave, who can tell ? 

A second element in the awfulness and triumph 
of death, is the mystery of its operations. There 



82 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

is a beautiful harmony and a consistent design in 
all the works of God. The planetary system — the 
wise arrangement of the seasons — the regulations 
of air and earth, are all uniform. Deity has fixed a 
law certain in its operations — fixed in its conse- 
quences, to every department of the divine govern- 
ment. In obedience to that principle, earth strikes 
its note harmonious with heaven, and heaven and 
earth make melody with air. But death seems to 
act without law — governed by no principle, unless 
that principle be to create as much confusion and 
distress as possible. It prostrates the fairest works 
of God — the noblest creations of His hands. It goes 
not only to the dens of infamy, haunts of woe, and 
abodes of crime and wretchedness, but it enters 
the palace of the king, the pulpit of the minister, 
and the retreat of domestic love. It not only re- 
moves the homeless w^anderer from earth, but it 
takes away the father from his bright-eyed boy, 
and the mother from her nestling child. It comes 
not only to the orphan, who has no shelter from the 
storm, but it robs the hearth-side of the child of 
many prayers, promises, and tears. Gaze over the 
circle of your friends ; look over society to-day, 
and you find an illustration of the truth of my re- 
mark. Why is that mother robed in mourning? 
It is the outward token of a mourning which the 
heart alone can feel. Why s'ls a tear in that fa- 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 83 

ther's eye? He recollects how once his child gaT^ 
him one sweet look, glanced its eyes to heaven, and 
sweetly fell asleep m Jesus. Why weeps that 
child so bitterly? Go to him, and he will tell you 
how often his little feet have tracked a path around 
his mother's grave ; how he has laid himself dow^n 
upon the mound which is over his sister's coffin, 
and how his brother and he have planted flowers 
all along from the cottage to the grave. Why are 
we here to-day? What mean these funeral so- 
lemnities ? Ask the community, as they render 
their last tribute to the memory of an honest man. 
Ask the church, as she, weeping, stands to hear his 
eulogy. Ask the children, as they follow the fa- 
ther's corpse, and lay it down forever in the grave. 
Ask the widow, who closed his eyes in a stranger 
land, and returned to her home alone, a widoAV in- 
deed. To us, this event is full of mystery. Our 
brother was so kind— so loved — so virtuous, that 
we thought death would not harm him. But, re- 
gardless of every circumstance and every consider- 
ation which would lead us to retain him here, death 
has taken him away, and to-day a sorrowing con- 
gregation laments his fall. 

" O'er his pale form a widow bows ; 

Around, his lonely childj-en grieve ; 
The churcb, who heard with joy bis vows— 

The poor he may no more relieve. 



84 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

" And was there then no meaner breast, 
Wherein the shaft might entrance find ; 
Where fewer claims of nature pressed ; 

Where fewer hearts would feel the wound ?" 

The times, too, at which death comes, is con- 
nected with the same mysterious uncertainty. It 
may come in concert with the singing birds, at 
the rising sun. It may come at noon, when the 
city is full of life, and all are too^busy to stop and 
hear the dying groan. It may come at midnight, 
when storms and tempests, its own fit emblems, are 
raging in the sky. It may come to prattling youth 
or hoary age. It may come to vigorous man, or 
weaker woman, and naught can repel it or stay its 
course. While I am now speaking, the monster 
comes grinning along, singing the song of the sepul- 
cher, to fix his fangs upon some of this congrega- 
tion. The aching head — the bleeding lungs — the 
palpitating heart, tell you that these walls will 
echo to no funeral sermon again, until yours is 
preached. 

A third element in the triumph of death is The 
physical distress which- is connected with it. 
Usually death gives its warnings before it comes. 
The symptoms of disease — the awful loneliness of 
mind — the fearful anticipation of the last struggle, 
all forebode the hour. We are so constituted that 
we dread sufiering, and as it is one of the woes of 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 85 

our lot, all meacsures have been devised to remove 
it. Physicians have tortured their brain to devise 
remedies— tortured earth to procure remedies — 
tortured man to apply remedies. Go with me into 
the chamber of the sick, and see what havoc death 
is making. The room is dark, lighted only by the 
faint glimmer from the half-closed door. On the ta- 
ble you see the glittering lancets of the surgeon, the 
iruggery of the physician, the Bible of the minister. 
At the foot of the bed sits the husband ; his eyes 
weep not, but his heart is breaking, and the fires 
within have dried up his tears. Brothers and sis- 
ters are there, who come to the bed-side, gaze on a 
moment, and turn sadly away, while a little child 
buries its face in the pillow, and cries in anguish, 
" Mother, mother — do not die — do not die !" But 
the most sorrowful sight of all, is the victim her- 
self. A few days ago she held high her head; her 
nodding plume waved amid beauty and fashion on 
the crowded street. Her cheek was full of life, 
and her eye gleamed with moral and intellectual 
aspirations. But death saw her laugh among that 
crowd ; he distinguished her plume above the rest,, 
and aimed his shaft. Wearily she returned to her 
dwelling, and as she swept through the opening 
portals, and closed the door behind her, she felt the 
first pang — it was the sting of death. The pang 
was removed, the sting was withdrawn, but with- 
6 



86 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

drawn only that the monster might plunge it to the 
heart. That night was a night of anguish and 
tears — sickness ensued — the cheek faded, and be- 
fore you lies a wasted form — a living, breathing 
skeleton. She has strength only to toss about from 
side to side, and soon that, too, is gone. Death 
has triumphed — the grave has gained a victory. 

Go with me again. We pas^ through the 
streets, and wend our way amid columns and ave- 
nues of men. Soon the crowd is left behind us. 
The roar of the distant waterfall, and the rolling 
of the vehicles through the paved streets, are now 
and then borne to us upon the breeze. We enter 
a field of graves. We see a path marked '' Mor- 
tality Avenue," and enter it. By-and-by we see a 
sepulcher. The monument over it is old and worn, 
and bespeaks the dwelling-place of many genera- 
tions. Now roll away the stone from the door, 
and gaze in, and what do you see ? Over a pile in 
one place you read^ " This dust has returned to 
dust.'' Over another you see the inscription, 
" Corruption and worms are my portion ;" while all 
around are strewed the victims and vestiges of 
death. The damp chill — the sickly smell — the un- 
broken stillness are there, in the citadel of death. 

Now all this physical suffering — these parting 
from friends — these death-struggles, contribute to 
array the monster in all his terrors. 



DEATH OF A FATHER. g7 

A fourth element in the awfulness and triumph 
of death, is found in our connection with sin. Sin 
is the sting of death, and without sin death would 
not occur, or would be so modified in all its devel- 
opments, as to minister to the happiness of man. 
However we might have passed away from the 
earth after we had fulfilled the design of our being, 
and filled up, to divine acceptation, the measure of 
our probation, certain is it, that the grave would 
never have been chosen as the passage from time to 
eternity. Death, with its present forms of terror 
and dismay, would not have been God's minister to 
lead His sinless children home to heaven. But sin 
introduced death into the world — unlocked the 
gates of the bottomless pit, and turned into our 
world this enemy of God, which is the last which He 
will destroy. Now to just such an extent as we 
are connected with sin, is death to be dreaded. All 
his lifetime the sinner is '^ subject to bondage,'' 
and as well might a prisoner marching to his exe- 
cution be joyful, as a sinner j'ourneying on to the 
judgment-seat of Christ. Woe, woe unto that 
man who dies without a preparation for death. 
Nothing is before him but "a fearful looking for of 
judgment, and fiery indignation,'' and, like the man 
who is running over a precipice, he, too, is rushing 
into the lake which burneth with fire forever. 



88 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

"How shocking must thy summons' be, death. 
To him who is at ease in his possessions ; 
Who, counting on long years of pleasure here, 
Is quite unfurnished for the world to come ! 
In that dread moment how the frantic soul 
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement, 
Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help. 
But shrieks in vain." 

I now proceed to consider, 

11. The elements vrhich constitute a victory over 
death and the grave. That the awfulness of death 
may be removed, we are perfectly sure. Abundant 
instances are at hand to prove that the sting of 
death has often been plucked out, and the death- 
bed made as peaceful as an evening sleep. What 
was it that induced Edward Bearing to say, " If it 
were put to my choice whether I should die or live, 
I would a thousand times rather choose death than 
life.'' Said Robert Bolton, " When shall I be dis- 
solved 1 When shall I be with Christ V " See 
how calm a Christian can die,'' were among the 
last words of Addison. What was it that gave to 
Payson those thrilling foretastes of future blessed- 
ness — brought him to the borders of heaven, and 
gave him an insight to its joys ? What was it that 
sustained our brother in his last moments, when 
heart and flesh were failing him, far away from 
home, and family, and kindred, with one, alone, to 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 89 

smooth his pillow ? What is it that bears up the 
Christian in every age and in every clime ? What 
magic power is it, that can thus triumph over the 
infirmities of our nature, and beat down death, even 
at the mouth of the sepulcher 1 

I answer : a preparation to meet death. This 
consists, first, in a vital union to Christ. The 
sinner is at enmity with God — in a state of unre- 
conciliation and disobedience. There is not one 
principle or emotion of his soul, which would lead 
him to serve or obey God. Now, out of Chifist there 
is no reconciliation. The Father stands robed in 
the violated law ; inapproachable in His holy abhor- 
rence of sin. Out of Christ, He is '' a consuming 
fire,'' and looks only to the honor of His govern- 
ment and the vindication of His character. If the 
sinner dies while he stands in this relation to God, 
he has nothing to sustain him in death ; every at- 
tribute of God is arrayed against him, and even 
the gracious perfections of Deity will sanction his 
condemnation. But a union to Christ removes that 
condemnation — covers him with a righteousness 
not his own — presents him in a new, regenerated 
character before God, and places his hand in the 
hand of Christ, and they go down into the grave 
together. 

A second element in preparation for death is, an 
assurance of hope. Many Christians, who in 



90 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

reality have a part in religion, and are truly the 
children of God, are like the impenitent, " all their 
lifetime subject to bondage.'' Their natural dis- 
positions, their habits of thinking, their peculiar 
temperaments, or something else connected with 
the world without, or the heart within, keeps them 
*^ bowed like a bulrush.'' They take the hand of 
Christ, and go forth, yet doubting His ability or 
willingness to lead them, and when the Jordan, 
rolling furiously, breaks upon their ears, and they 
remember that this is death, they take the hand 
away from Christ, and cling to earth. The remedy 
for this is a clear hope — a calm assurance that we 
have an interest in the death of Christ— that God 
is our portion- — heaven our home. This is attain- 
able. It is within the reach of all. Strive for it— 
diligently seek it, is enjoined upon us, and if we 
would die peacefully and triumphantly, we must 
have an evidence clear — a hope strong — a prospect 
bright. 

The third element in a preparation for death is a 
holy life. " Teach me how to live," says one, 
" and I wdll teach you how to die." It is impos- 
sible for a Christian to view the approach of death 
with calmness, if he continues buried up in the 
perplexities of the world. Christ, faith, and holi- 
ness, are the mystic words which dissolve the 
shades of death. Christ, the efficient, procuring 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 91 

cause — faith the instrument^holiness the result. 
If Christ be not formed within, the hope of glory — 
if faith does not point backward to the cross and 
forward to the crown — ^if obedience does not work 
" to will and to do,'' within us, death still has do- 
minion over us. These three elements, then, enter 
into a preparation for death. A vital union to 
Christ — a full assurance of hope — a holy life. 
Possess these, and death is vanquished, and the 
Christian is victor. He dies in triumph. 

" His fight is fought, his faith has reached the end, 
Firm to the heaven his glance, his heart ascends ; 
There with the Judge he sees his crown remain, 
And if to live be Christ, to die is gain." 

The thoughts which have now been presented, 
have been suggested by the melancholy death of a 
beloved brother and fellow-laborer. It is seldom 
that death summons one from the walks of private 
life, whose loss is so deeply and generally felt. 
The family — the church — the community, unite in 
paying a tribute to his memory. In such a com- 
munity as this, death comes so often that it pro- 
duces but little impression upon our minds. We 
behold its unmerciful hand, breaking up family 
circles so often, that we lose our horror of it, until 
it lays its iron grasp on us. We give to the hearse, 
the coffin, and the shroud, a passing glance, and 



92 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

hurry on our busy way, and death is forgotten in 
our anxiety for life. But the death which we 
mourn to-day has caused a wider gloom. The esti- 
mation in which our brother was held by the citi- 
zens of the place ; the station which he occupied in 
the church as one of its deacons, the faithful man- 
ner in which he had performed his duties, the manner 
of his death in a far-oif land, and the large family 
of children which he has left behind him, render 
his fall peculiarly affecting. But a few months 
since, he stood in the vigor of manhood before the 
'altar to pledge himself to her, who for the second 
time has been left a widow. Children were there 
to rejoice in that event, always so full of interest, 
and the prospect of long life and happiness was 
before him. But God had otherwise ordained. In 
less than one year his marriage dress is exchanged 
for the vestures of the grave — his bright hearth- 
side, where the vow was made, is exchanged for the 
coffin and the sepulcher. Death has come, and 
brought with it all its long train of desolating 
influences. 

He was one of those few men, whose reputation 
slander dare not touch, whose retreat malignity 
dare not invade, whose motives prejudice dare not 
impugn. Men who knew him best loved him best, 
and those who associated with him most, valued 
him most. His religion extended into his business 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 93 

transactions, and was mingled with the intercourse 
of daily life. Was he rich ? His wealth was not 
drawn from the earnings of the poor. Was he 
placed in stations of trust and honor by his fellow 
men ? That preference was not of his own seek- 
ing. Was he loved and respected by all ? That 
respect was earned by an upright deportment and a 
holy life. 

He was a tender husband and a kind father, 
and his fall has left a chasm in the family circle, 
which He alone can fill, who has promised to be 
a father to the fatherless and a husband to the 
widow. 

His piety was intelligent^ steady^ and active. 
Its flame never flashed out to burn and bewilder, 
and then die away in darkness ; but its light, like 
the vestal fire, never went out, and amid the 
gloom of spiritual night, and the shining of the Sun 
of Righteousness, he stood erect — a son of thunder 
to the careless — a son of consolation to the peni- 
tent. 

But virtue is no refuge against disease. During 
the summer, the symptoms of dissolution began to 
appear. Day by day health withdrew his strength, 
and sickness came on apace. Physicians recom- 
mended a visit to Cuba, and with hopes of recovery, 
he started on the voyage in company with his com- 
panion and a male friend. Wrapping his cloak 



94 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

around him, he stepped into his coach without tak- 
ing leave of his children, or saying farewell to his 
family. They knew that he was to leave them, 
l)ut their sorrow tears could not tell — words could 
not utter. 

Weeks rolled on, and the sad intelligence came, 
that our brother was no more. Time brought on 
the widow, but the husband came not, she returned 
alone. Who can fathom the awfulness of that 
word, alone? The voyage was unsuccessful, and 
death claimed its victim, far from home. One* of 
his last desires was, to return to his native city — 
to be buried by the grave of his father and of his 
mother ; and to-day we are met amid scenes so fa- 
miliar to him, to render the last sad tribute to his 
memory. 

The consolation which I would offer to the afflict- 
ed Relatives to-day, is the blessed assurance that 
" our brother shall rise again," — that, " though he 
be dead, yet shall he live.'' There is to be a re- 
surrection. As the sun goes out in darkness, and 
the last star fades away from the heavens, an angel 
from the throne of God will gather the scattered 
dust, and reanimate it with new life and beauty. 
The body may die, but the spirit will live on. You 
may go to the graveyard, and weep over the tomb, 
but he whom you seek is not in the grave. His 
dust is there, but he himself is gone. The storm 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 95 

may sweep oyer the place — desolation may howl 
around it — darkness may cover it, but storm, and 
desolation, and darkness, are alike unheeded. 

This trutl is revealed to us by Christianity. The 
gospel alone can give us a glimpse into the future 
world — show us the design of death, even in its most 
terrible manifestations — give us strength to endure 
its physical sufferings, and open to us a fountain to 
cleanse us from our sin. 

What philosophy, science, and history could not 
do; religion has accomplished. . From the fires of 
her own heaven-consecrated altar, she has thrown 
out a brilliant light, whose divine illuminations 
have dispelled the darkness of the grave — disarmed 
deaths and established the hopes of immortality. 
" Thy brother shall rise again. '^ Blessed assur- 
ance ! Though the atmosphere of another clime 
received his parting breath, and his dying groan 
mingled with the sighing wind — though the body 
shall see corruption, and mingle with the earth, to 
form a covering for the bodies of his children — 
though nothing remains with us but his clay-cold 
corpse, which we must now " bury out of our sight,'-' 
yet his Redeemer liveth, and at the latter day they 
shall stand together upon the earth : 

** The body that, corrupted, fell. 
Shall, incorrupted, rise," 



96 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

and bloom and flourish in the vigor of an immortal 
youth. How cold the faith of those who deny the 
resurrection of the dead ! Like blasted monuments 
of art, they stand the ruined monuments of divine 
power loving earth, though it is planted with thorns — 
clinging to its pleasures, though those pleasures are 
drugged with the poison of death. We cannot die— 

" Heaven and earth 
Shall pass away, but that which thinks within me 
Must think forever ; that which feels must feel ; 
I am, and I can never cease to be.'* 

There is to be a resurrection, of the just and the 
unjust. Methinks, that event has come, and I see 
the spirits of the departed, as they descend from 
heaven, and stand by yonder tomb and wait until 
the trumpet of the archangel shall bring the body 
forth. I ask them why they wait. They reply, 
" The dead shall rise ;" and, as they speak, the 
trumpet sounds — the doors of the tomb are burst 
open — the dead in Christ arise first — the judgment 
comes. Mother, go forward and find your daugh- 
ter's form. Father, behold your long-lost child. 
Tears and weeping are no more, and, as the last 
victim of death comes forth, Jesus lays down the. 
scepter at the feet of God, saying a second time, " It 
is finished,'' and death is swallowed up in victory. 
Our brother lives, he lives in heaven. Let us, 



DEATH OF A FATHER. 97 

instead of murmuring at his loss, imitate his exam- 
ple — copy his virtues, so that when the icy hand 
of death is laid upon us, we may die with that calm 
trust in God, which made him whom we mourn, so 
tranquil and happy in his last moments. " May 
our death be the death of the righteous, and our 
last end like his.'' 

Just before his departure from this city, our 
brother expressed to a friend his determination to 
do more for the church of which he was a member, 
and for the cause of Christ generally, than he had 
ever done before. But of what avail was his resolu- 
tion ? While those words were warm upon his lips, 
death sealed thoge lips in silence — shut him out 
from earthly toil, "and opened to him the gates of 
heaven. He died as the Christian dies, with his 
thoughts of kindness to the church uppermost ia 
his mind, and his purposes of devotion to his Sa* 
viour firmest in his heart. 

" 0, is it not a noble thing to die 
As dies the Christian, with his armor on? 
What is the hero's clarion, though its blast 
Rings with the mastery of a world, to this ? 
What are the searching victories of mind — 
The lore of vanished ages ? What are all 
The trumpetings of proud humanity, 
To the short history of him who made 
His sepulcher beside the King of Kings ?'* 



VI. 

DEATH OF A CHILD. 

Is it well with the child ?— Elisha. 

Sacred memories cluster around tlie death and 
burial of an infant. At its birtlij joys unknown to 
the hearts of others are stirred in the parent's bo- 
som, and a world of affections is opened before him, 
which he alone is able to explore. At its death, 
his heart feels a loss such as he has never before 
sustained, and his affections receive a shock, such 
as can be given by no other loss. There is an inti- 
macy of relationship betweeen the parent and child, 
which, if continued, is a source of holy satisfac- 
tion : if sundered, becomes a source of untold sor- 
row. Few continue long in the marrriage relation 
without a happy experience of the bliss which this 
relationship affords, and few parents there are who 
have not felt the sorrow of parting, and the grief 
which must come to the full heart, when from it 
some bright child is torn rudely away. 

In the touching incident related in the Book of 
Kings, we have the portrait of an afflicted mother 
sitting down with a dead child, in the sorrow of her 
heart to feel her loss, and bewail it. The prophet 



DEATH OF A CHILD, 99 

Elisha was called to make repeated visits to the city 
of Shunem. On one of these visits he became ac- 
quainted with a woman of opulence and wealth, who 
gave him bread to eat, and kindly ministered to al 
his wants. By his correct demeanor she saw that 
he was a holy man, and as she was a woman of pious 
life, she welcomed him to her home, made a little 
chamber in the wall, where he could be retired from 
the noise and confusion of the city, and which he 
could occupy unmolested. 

In process of time the woman received from the 
hand of God a precious gift, of which she had long 
been denied. To her a son was born, who at once 
became the light of her home and the joy of her life. 
The long pent-up feelings of a mother's heart gushed 
out, and her ajBPections entwined themselves around 
her new-born babe. She watched over the child 
day and night, until he grew up a fine lad, able to 
run about and play with his companions, and enjoy 
himself after the manner of children. One day he 
went out into the fields, where his father was em- 
ployed with his servants gathering in the crop. While 
there, the hand of disease was laid upon him. Leav- 
ing his sports, he went to his father ; and, pressing 
his little hands upon his throbbing temples, cried 
out : " Oh, my head, my head.'' The father sent 
him home to his mother, and on her knee he sat until 
noon, burying his fevered face in her bosom, and 



100 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

died. With the calm and subdued sorrow of a godly 
woman, she took up the corpse, and laid it, yet warm, 
in the chamber which had been made for Elisha. 
When this was done she called for a beast, and ser- 
vants, that she might find the man of God. She 
might have thought that the prophet could restore 
her son to life ; or else, she hoped to find her dis- 
tracted heart comforted, by conversing with one 
whose business it was to comfort those that mourn. 
Her husband remonstrated at first, and at length 
yielded to her solicitations. So she came to Mount 
Carmel, where Elisha was. When the good man 
saw her coming in such haste, he feared some dis- 
aster, and at once inquired, through the medium of 
Gehazi. " Is it well with thee ? Is it well with 
thy husband? Is i1i>well with the child ?'^ 

And what answer suppose you the mother gave 
to these afiecting questions ? Did she at once com 
mence to weep and lament, and rend the air with 
her cries, saying, " No, it is not well with my hus- 
band, for he to-day is a childless sire ; it is not well 
with me, for the loved object of my afiections has 
been removed from me ; the gift of God is stricken 
down, and I am again a childless mother ; it is not 
well with the child, for he is dead.'' Did she say this 1 
No; her calm reply was, ''It is well.^^ Then 
unfolded she to him her sorrow, poured forth the tor- 
rent of a mother's bleeding love, and besought his aid. 



DEATH OF A CHILD. 101 

In every community is found many a broken -heart- 
ed Shunamite woman — a mother who is exclaiming, 
^' I have lost my children and am desolate.'^ As I go 
out day after day, I hear the voice of Rachel mourn- 
ing for her children, and refusing to be comforted, 
because they are not. Bending along through the 
streets passes the bruised and afflicted parent, who 
bears on the countenance, and in the heart, deep 
traces of grief and sorrow. The slightest reference 
from the pulpit to the death of children will start the 
tear and awaken the slumbering feeling of sadness, 
for at once, the mother will remember when her own 
loved and idolized child was taken from her ; the 
father will call to mind the dark night when he stood 
over the form of an infant son, whose young and 
unstained spirit was passing away. 

My object in the present article is to lead afflicted 
, parents to feel that it is well with them, and well 
with their departed children ; and in view of this I 
remark, that the death of your child was — 

1. A righteous event. Too often is the feeling 
cherished that God has no right thus to sunder the 
ties which bind the parent to the child. The un- 
subdued heart rises up in rebellion against the 
Providence which covered it with such clouds ; and,, 
instead of bowing before God, and learning the les- 
sons of wisdom which the event is calculated to 
teach, their lips break forth with impious murmurs 
7 



102 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

and unavailing regrets. Not long ago I saw a mother 
who said, " I cannot believe that God is good or kind 
in the removal of my child. It is not right— it is 
not just.'' But that woman had forgotten that her 
child belonged to God, and was only placed in her 
arms awhile for a wise and holy purpose. If a sum 
of money, a mechanical instrument, an article of 
household furniture, be lent to a friend or neighbor, 
he does not feel aggrieved when it is called for and 
reclaimed. He who owns it has a perfect and un- 
questioned right to call for it, and atiy refusal to 
refund it, would be an act of gross injustice. A 
man's money, his time, and his children, alike be- 
long to God. He is the Maker and the sole pro- 
prietor, and the eternal, uncreated source of all 
things. He has a right to give life or to withhold 
it : to take it away or to preserve it. If a man loses 
his breath, he only loses what is not, and never was, 
his own. If his children are taken away, he is de- 
prived only of a lent blessing — a child which God 
made, and which He placed in the hands of the pa- 
rents, to be kept only during His pleasure. 

If a neighbor should enter your house, and leave 
one of his dear children to be enjoyed by you one 
day, or one week, on no principle could you suppose 
that you might keep it after that parent had re- 
turned. Your care of it would not make you its 
parent, or its lawful possessor. No care which you 



DEATH OF A CHILD. 103 

could bestow, no money which you could expend, no 
sacrifice you coul^ make, would change its relation 
to 3^ou, or to its natural guardians. Nor can the 
near and intimate relation which you sustain to your 
children, the love you bear them, and the money you 
expend for them, change the relationship which they 
sustain to God, their heavenly parent. They are 
His beyond all question, and hence, when He calls 
for them, and takes them home, to dwell near His 
own heart, and in His own presence, you only sur- 
render what was His before. 

2. The death of your child is a wise event. God 
who does it, knows all things : you know but little. 
He sees far into the future : your vision is bounded 
by doubts and mysteries. To Him this life appears 
in a difierent light from what it does to you. He 
sees it through a clear atmosphere, and judges more 
correctly of its worth. Knowing that God foresees 
all things, we have reason to admire His wisdom in 
removing children from the sorrows that beset our 
path. We are born unto trouble as the sparks fly 
upward. All life long we groan and weep, and 
from the cradle to the grave bewail our lot. It is 
not likely that your child would escape sorrow, or 
that he would be the first to pass through life un- 
touched by its trials and unaffected by its bitter- 
ness. Now I ask, if God foresees that the form 
which you embrace with such tenderness, will be 



104 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

racked with anguish and distracted with ^sorrow, is 
it not wise in Him, to take it away to a world where 
there are no tears ? And is it no blessing to you to 
know that your children have escaped the sorrows 
incident to life, exchanged the troubled pillow of 
sickness for perpetual life, the groans of earth for 
the bliss of heaven ? 

Were you in abject poverty, and some kind man 
should come to your door and give food to your 
children, propose to educate them in all the splen- 
dor of royalty, you would let them go; it would 
prove you narrow, selfish, and cruel to keep your 
children in a hovel, in ignorance, in want, when 
they might be well provided for, and educated and 
honored. You would let them go though it might 
grieve you to part with them. You would sacri- 
fice your feelings to their welfare, and though you 
knew you should never seb them again you would 
bless the hand which* was leading them away. 
However much you might love your children, you 
would not stand in the way of their advance- 
ment. 

Now in this same manner has God acted toward 
the child which you have lost. As He looked down 
from heaven He saw you were unable to make your 
little one happy, unable to supply its wants, and 
that you would keep it only for a life of anxiety 
and care. He took the child away in wisdom, and 



DEATH OF A CHILD. 105 

it is now enjoying the society of sainted spirits 
around the throne. 

Nor is this all. By an unfortunate combination 
of circumstances we are all under the influence of 
sin. Our first responsible acts are sinful, and we 
grow up averse to God and a holy life. Many of 
the human family become very wicked, break over 
all restraints, and almost rival Satan in iniquity. 
Not content with being sinners, they covet the dis- 
tinction of being the chief of sinners. Now the 
child whose death you mourn might have become ex- 
tremely wicked. He might have become a drunk- 
ard, a Sabbath-breaker, a gambler, or a profligate. 
He might have been idle, indolent, vicious, and 
ended his life on the gallows. He might have 
smote the bosom that nursed him, the hand that 
fed him, and the heart that loved him. You 
shrink now from such a supposition. All the 
memories of your child are precious, and you have 
dreamed only of his growing up with a heart of 
angel goodness. But you have lived long enough, 
and seen enough of life to know that other parents 
have had visions as bright as yours, and have had 
them dashed in a single hour. 

David had a son whom he loved. He saw him 
grow up, and for him he was willing to make any 
sacrifice. His heart went after Absalom. But 
the child became a man, and ere long is seen with 



106 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

an army endeavoring to drive his white-haired sire 
from his throne, and pursuing him into the caves 
of the earth. His hopes were blasted, and his 
visions faded away. 

See the bloody Nero, full of hate and violence. 
He was once a child. See bloody murderers and 
pirates. They were once meek, gentle children. 
See the rude, profane young men, and wanton, vi- 
cious young women who are found* so frequently in 
large cities ! They were all children once, loved 
by parents, and idolized by their friends. 

There is a tide of influence setting toward vice 
which renders this world a deceitful one, and when 
with the first gush of parental love you fold a child 
to your arms, you know not what that child will 
yet become. He may be virtuous, or he may be 
vicious. Hence, if God foresees that your child 
will become depraved. He acts the part of wisdom 
in removing him from temptation ere the young 
heart is stained with crime, or the young life is 
darkened with clouds of gloom and wretchedness. 
You may not see, and you may not remember, for 
you are not wise, but God is, and He has acted 
from the impulse of His own glorious knowledge. 
You can rejoice as well as mourn, for your child is 
safe. 

" As vernal flowers that scent the morn, 
But wither in the rising day, 



DEATH OF A CHILD. 107 

Thus lovely was the infant's dawn. 
Thus swiftly fled his life away. 

" He died before his infant soul 

Had ever burned with wrong desires- 
Had ever spurned at Heaven's control, 
Or ever quenched its sacred fires. 

'* He died to sin ; he died to care ; 
But for a moment felt the rod ; 
Then, rising on the viewless air, 

Spread his light wings, and soared to God." 

3 The death of your child is a benevolent event. 
If, atg I have supposed, he would be a great suf- 
ferer, or a great sinner, it is benevolence to you, 
and also to him. His removal so early, is an evi- 
dence that God loves him, and is ready to save him 
from the snares of this vain and wicked world. If 
you should see him walking along, in unconscious 
mood, the bank of some dangerous steep, or into a 
nest of vipers, you would take him away. The 
impulse of your heart would be to save your son, 
and at the sacrifice of your life you would deliver 
him. God knows to wliat influence your offspring 
will be subject. He knows what chilling winds will 
blow upon them, and what physical and moral dan- 
gers lie in their path. Not in anger, nor in hatred, 
out out of the purobt love. He sends some guardian 
-spirit, gently and sweetly to strike off* the fetters 



108 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

of earth, untwine the arms of the infant from your 
neck, and bear it away in triumph to His own abode. 
Could parents reflect long enough to comprehend 
this sacred truth, much of the misery which is oc- 
casioned by the loss of children would be obviated. 
Many who are thus called to mourn, forget every 
thing but their loss. They lose sight of God, and 
heaven, and the welfare of the departed one, and 
fall down in despair, destitute of all the cheerful 
and comfortable assurances which God has given 
for such occasions. How natural, and yet how un- 
wise this is ! What sorrows ! what clouds ! what 
darkness ! all in consequence of a neglect or an 
unwillingness to receive the precious truths of the 
Holy Scriptures. The benevolence of God does 
not shine out more clearly in the health and life of 
one of your children than in the death of the other. 
The two events are distinguished alike by infinite 
kindness and goodness, and dull and insensible to 
the sorrows of earth and the joys of heaven must 
be he who cannot say, 

"'Tis better far, in childhood's 
Friendless years, ere sorrows come, and cares of earth 
Enslave us, sweetly to fall asleep and 
Wake in heaven/' 

But it occurs to me that I may be arguing on pre- 
mises which all will not admit, and may be told 



DEATH OF A CHILD. 109 

that all the ohildren who die would not probably 
grow up great sinners, or great sufferers, should 
they live. Well, admit this, and more than this. 
Admit that the son you mourn would, had he lived, 
grown up loved, honored, and happy. Admit that 
he might have been placed in the most fortunate 
earthly position, and what then? Is not heaven 
better than earth?. The society of God better 
than the companionship of men ? Removed froir. 
the highest earthly honors to the glories of heaven, 
is not death a glorious triumph ? 

I also anticipate the question which will arise in 
some minds ; " If God is wise and benevolent in 
the removal of one of my children from poverty 
and sin, is He not unwise to leave the other here 
to suffer, and groan, and weep V^ To this I simply 
reply, that God may have some work in heaven, 
some sinless mission for the one who is removed ; 
and some work on earth, some mission here, for 
the one who is left. His purpose is deep, and be- 
yond our comprehension, but hereafter it will shine 
out with beams of light and truth. 

4. The death of your child is glorious. It will 
require no argument to prove that the dying infant 
is wafted up to glory. Any other idea would be 
abhorrent to reason and Revelation. The charac- 
ter of God, His plans and purposes, the teachings 
of the Saviour, and the great atonement, all are 



110 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

pledged to the precious doctrine of infant salvation, 
John, in the vision of Patmos, had a sublime view 
of an infant throng wno, standing on Mount Sion, 
joined in the grand chorus of the redeemed, and 
shouted, '' Glory to God, and the Lamb.'^ And 
^' I looked, and lo a Lamb stood on the Mount Sion, 
and with Him a hundred, forty and four thousand, 
having His Father's name written in their fore- 
heads. And I heard a voice from heaven, as the 
voice of many waters, and as the voice of a great 
thunder, and I heard the voice of harpers, harping 
with their harps. And they sung as it were a new 
song before the throne, and before the four beasts 
and the elders ; and no man could learn that song 
but the hundred, and forty and four thousand which 
were redeemed from the earth. These are they 
which were not defiled with women, for they are 
virgins ; these are they which follow the Lamb 
whithersoever He goeth ; these were redeemed 
from among men, being the first fruits unto God 
and to the Lamb. And in their mouth was found 
no "guile, for they are without fault before the 
throne of God.'' 

This language applies to the multitudes of infants 
who enter heaven with songs of praise. If it was 
not designed to represent such, there is* no class on 
earth or in heaven, as far as human knowledge 
goes, to whom it is applicable. 



DEATH OF A CHILD. Ill 

(1.) They sing a new song — a song wliicli no man 
can learn — which none know but themselves : it is 
the song of innocence, swelling out from infant 
voices and echoing through the world above. (2.) 
They are redeemed from among men. They are not 
angels, nor celestial spirits. They belong to earth ; 
they have enjoyed the benefits of the atonement, 
and the grace of redemption. (3.) They are pure, 
and undefiled. To all the sins of men they are 
strangers. In their mouth is no guile ; and they stand 
before the throne of God without spot or wrinkle, 
or any such thing. 

Who are they ? Where on earth can such a class 
of persons be found ? To the army of infants and lo 
them only, is such language applicable. It must re- 
fer to them, and to no others. 

Hence, the glory which is in the death of children. 
They are changed in early life from corruption, and 
rise to celestial life and beauty. Transplanted they 
are, from the cold, bosom and cheerless wilderness 
of earth to bloom and thrive in the paradise of God. 
And would you who have lost children bring them 
back again, to share this sinful, sorrowing life, with 
us ? Would you have them give up their harps of glory 
for the hammer, the anvil, and the spindle? Would 
you have them lay down their crowns of honor and 
brightness to wear again the robes of earth, and to 
be sheltered from chills and blasts by the poor cov- 



112 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

erings of man's device ? Would you bring them 
back to weep, groan, sin, suffer, and die over again, 
upon the shores of time ? 

Would bereaved parents take this cheerful and 
encouraging view of God's dealings with their chil- 
dren, they would not so often mourn without hope. 
Would they, instead of looking down into the deep 
grave, where the cold, wet bo&y lies, look upward 
to the bright world where the spirit lives and 
rejoices in light, their hearts would not feel such 
crushing weights ; and instead of Rachel weeping for 
her children, and refusing to be comforted, because 
they are not, we should have Job saying, " The 
Lord hath given and the Lord hath taken away, 
blessed be the name of the Lord.'' 

** Thou'lt say, ' My first-born blessing, 
It almost broke my heart 

When thou wert forced to go ; 
And yet for thee I know 
'Twas better to depart. 

**^ God took thee in His mercy, 
A lamb, untasked, untried ; 

He fought the fight for thee ; 

He won the victory, 
And.thou art sanctified. 

*'*I *ook around, and see 
The evil ways of men ; 



DEATH OF A CHILD, 118 

And, 0, beloved child, 
I'm more than reconciled 
To thy departure then. 

" ' The little hands that clasped me. 
The innocent lips that pressed. 

Would they have been as pure 

Till now, as when of yore 
I lulled thee on my breast ?' " 

There is one reflection eminently suited to this 
subject. If nothing sinful enters heaven, we have 
reason to fear that some parents will be separated 
from their children in the world to come. If the 
weeping father and sorrowful mother would enter 
into that state, and place of purity, they must be 
washed, regenerated, and sanctified. They must 
repent and become as little children, or they can in 
no wise enter the kingdom of heaven. 

Do any who have buried children listen to my 
voice? Your little ones are safe on high— with 
God. They weep not, they sufier not, they sin not. 
Like the insect which you once saw in the chrysal- 
istic state, but which has changed its groveling 
form for one of beauty, so your child has broken 
the chrysalis of time, and spread his wings, and 
upward flown into the clear light and joyful liberty 
of heaven. 



114 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

Prepare to follow, for the time is at hand. Seek 
righteousness and peace, from God our Father, and 
our Lord Jesus Christ. Be ready to rejoice with 
your departed ones, to sing their songs, to share 
their pleasures, and inherit their estate, for day and 
night forever are they before the throne« 

These consoling views which I have now present- 
ed, are not the cold deduction of stoicism, but the 
sublime view of faith. I am not unaware of the 
sorrow which the father feels, and the anguish which 
enters a mother's soul, when her babe is removed. 
The loss to these parents, and especially to the 
mother, is so great that human sympathy is almost 
vain, and they cling to the cold clay as if it were 
their all. One who has been called to part with 
children — a bereaved and sorrowing mother — writes 
upon this subject : 

" No one feels the death of a child as a mother 
feels it. The father cannot realize it thus. True, 
there is a vacancy in his home and a heaviness in 
his heart. There is a chain of association that at 
set times comes round with its broken link ; there 
are memories of endearment, a keen sense of loss, a 
weeping over crushed hopes, and a pain of wounded 
affection. Bat the mother feels that one has been 
taken away who was still closer to her heart. Hers 
has been the office of constant ministration. Every 
gradation of feature developed before her eyes ; she 



DEATH OF A CHILD, 115 

detected every new gleam of infant intelligence ; she 
heard the first utterance of every stammering word ; 
she was the refuge of its fears, the supply of its 
wants, and every task of affection wove a new link, 
and made dear to her its object. And when her 
child dies, a portion of her own life, as it were, dies 
with it. How can she give her darling up, with all 
these loving memories, these fond associations ? The 
timid hands that have so often taken hers in trust 
and love, how can she fold them on its sinless breast, 
and surrender them to the cold clasp of Death ? 
The feet whose wanderings she has watched so nar- 
rowly, how can she see them straightened to go down 
into the dark valley? The head that she has pressed 
to her lips and bosom, that she has watched in 
peaceful slumber and in burning sickness, a hair of 
which she could not see harmed, 0, how can she 
consign it to the dark chamber of the grave ? It 
was a gleam of sunshine and a voice of perpetual 
gladness in her home ; she had learned from it bless- 
ed lessons of simplicity, sincerity, purity, faith ; it 
had unsealed within her a gushing, never-ebbing tide 
of affection ; when suddenly it was taken away, and 
that home is left dark and silent, and to the vain 
and heart-rending aspiration, ^ Shall that dear child 
never return again?' there breaks in response, 
through the cold gray silence, ^ Nevermore — 0, nev- 
ermore!^ The heart is like a forsaken mansion, 



116 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

and that word goes echoing through its desolate 
chambers'. And yet, fond mother ! — ' time brings 
such wondrous easing' — thou wilt in after years look 
back, with a not unpleasing sadness, even upon this 
scene of grief.'' 

Listen, bereaved parents, and you will hear your 
children singing the song of paradise ! Look, and 
you will see their heads crowned with glory ! In- 
stead of desponding, prepare to follow your loved 
ones to the home appointed for all the living. All 
are dying. 

" Princes, this clay must be your bed. 

In spite of all your powers ; 
The tall, the wise, the rev'rend head, 

"Will lie as low as ours." 

Prepare to go, and resign your children with more 
of submission and love than of sadness and misery. 
They go with joy. To every burst of grief they say : 

" Father ! the pearly gates unfold, 
The sapphire walls, the streets of gold, 

Are bursting on my sight ; 
The Angel bands come singing down, 
And one has got my starry crown, 

And one my robe of white. 

** Poising above on silvery wing, 
They're waiting my freed soul to bring 
To its new home above ; 



DEATH OF A CHILD. 117 

There, folded to my Saviour's breast, 
How sweet, how full will be my rest 
Beneath His eye of love. 

*Thou would'st not hold me longer here. 
Though well I know that many a tear 

For my dear sake will flow. 
Tlie morning dawns upon my sight, 
How long, how dark has been the night 1 
Father ! I go, I go." 
8 



vn. 

ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 

The destruction that wasteth at noonday.— David. 

Death, viewed without reference to the victory 
of faith, is a terrible enemy. He is the common 
conqueror of mankind. The more we see of his 
dreadful dealings with our race, the more do we 
dread his approach and shun his presence. Mer- 
ciless alike to tender youth and hoary age, he has 
filled society with lamentations, and clothed many a 
mourner in robes of sorrow. He has no pity for 
the widow— non-e for the orphan. His vocation is 
terrible destruction, and like a conqueror he rideth 
through the world, leaving his pathway wet with 
tears and dotted with graves. Each time he 
comes, it seems to be with the same relentless fury, 
dealing out to man the cup of bitterness and sor- 
row. He has no pity. Mothers have knelt before 
him, and plead for their children in vain ; sisters 
have bowed at his iron throne, and with tearful 
eyes besought him to revoke the mandate which 
consigned a brother to the grave, in vain ; whole 
churches, whole nations have been unable to soften 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 119 

his heart of steel, or move him to one deed of 
mercy and compassion. Other conquerors have 
lived awhile and died. Caesar, Alexander, and 
Napoleon, are all slumbering in their graves. For 
a short .time their banners waved over defeated ar- 
mies and prostrate empires. Victory followed them 
awhile, and gathered its cluster of blood-wet lau- 
rels around their heads. But the time of triumph 
was short. Soon they left the ranks of living men 
and joined the silent army of the dead. Music, 
soft and melodious — ^the solemn dirge, sounded over 
their graves, but they heard it not. Their dust 
has mingled with the meaner ashes of beggars and 
slaves. But death is not yet destroyed. Unlike 
human tyrants, he holds his sway from' age to age, 
and the monuments of his conquests are found 
through all the progress of six thousand years. 
He entered with sacrilegious tread the garden of 
Eden, and following close in the track of human 
sin, marked our first parents as his victims. He 
has entered into a contest with the mightiest of our 
race. Patriarchs, prophets, kings, he has consigned 
to the shades of the sepulcher. In all forms, and 
under all circumsta'nces, he has made his conquests. 
At midnight and midnoon he has invaded the cot- 
tage and the palace, aijd presented himself to the 
monarch and the subject. He desired to grapple 
with the Son of God;, and on the summit of Cal- 



120 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

vary wrestled with that Mighty One, who came to 
abolish death, and seal up forever the mouth of the 
sepulcher, and destroy entirely the dominion and 
conquest of the grave. 

Death does not come in the same form to all 
men. He varies his assaults, and to some appears 
under more awful circumstances than to others. 
To some he gives a death-bed around which hor- 
rors cluster— a lone death-bed, with no friend to 
watch beside it ; a pillow smoothed by no kind 
hand; a grave over which no flower blooms, no 
willow waves, no bird sings. To others he comes 
while they are surrounded with friends, cuts them 
down at noon, and makes life itself dreadful before 
he calls his victim to leave so many pleasures. To 
one he comes on the wings of some dreadful plague, 
or in the sudden fury of some fearful accident. 
The victim has scarcely a moment to prepare to 
meet his God. Suddenly he is torn from all he 
loves in life, and with >ut warning carried away to 
the land of spirits. So unexpectedly are some re- 
moved that they have no time to attend to the most 
trivial service. They may wish, but wish in vain, 
for a single day or hour to settle business, bid 
adieu to wife and child. The messenger of the 
grave will not wait. He lifts his hand, and una- 
vailing are all remonstrances, tears, and prayers. 

To others he comes in the flush and burning heat 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 121 

of tlie feyer, which fastens itself upon the system, 
boils in the blood, and destroys reason. Under its 
influence a single week is suSicient to bow the 
strongest form, and make the vigorous arm weak as 
infancy. You often see the muscular man, with his 
head erect, his broad chest heaving with exertion, 
his step firm and even, and his eye full of life, pass- 
ing along your streets. On him as he moves, the 
fever lays its hand, and the work of ruin commen- 
ces. His step falters as he nears his home, his eye 
loses its wonted fire, his limbs refuse to support him, 
and he totters to the bed, to exchange it only for 
the coffin. Yesterday his strong arm was capable, 
of almost any toil, his mind was firm and steady ; 
to-day the fever has wasted the body, and dethroned 
the intellect. To others death comes in the wast- 
ing, lingering consumption, and gives them days and 
months of weariness and sorrow. By most persons 
the consumption is dreaded as one of the most fear- 
ful diseases to which we are subject. It is called 
the scourge of our climate, and every year it carries 
hundreds to the grave. Not a few brave the fever, 
who tremble at the signs of this protracted disease, 
which is so prevalent in our community. Fathers 
and mothers fear other complaints but little, and 
look with the utmost anxiety upon the wasting cheeks 
and the pallid countenances of their children. But, 
though dreaded so universally, consumption has 



122 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

much in it of consolatory blessing. Of all diseases; 
it is best calculated to bring out the better traits 
of human character and develop the graces of the 
Christian life. When death comes in the form of 
consumption, it is mercy compared with plague, fe- 
ver, insanity, or sudden accident, and to one who is 
about to exchange worlds, it is well adapted to give 
the needful preparation. To many who have gone 
from your midst to the consumptive's grave, the 
disease has been a blessing in disguise, and many a 
parent can look back upon the sickness of a beloved 
child, who day by day wasted away, and finally fell 
into the aj ms of Jesus. This scourge of the climate 
becomes the mild and merciful discipline of God, to 
prepare the soul to enter upon the holy services of 
the upper temple. It accomplishes what fever and 
plague cannot, and leads the sufiering disciple to 
sweet and calm submission to the will of God. Why 
then should consumption be so universally dreaded 1 
It should not. Every step of its progress is 
mingled with mercy, and instead of being a sirocco 
which sweeps over human life, it is a merciful dis- 
pensation of Divine Providence, which announces 
death to man in the mildest way and with the kind- 
liest tone. This will be evident if we attend to the 
following considerations : 

1. Consumption gives time for reflection and 
thought . It comes on gradually. A cough — a sin- 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 123 

gle pain — a headache — a heart-throb, are among the 
first indications. Weeks roll on, and another sign 
appears, and then another, and another. Friends 
become alarmed. They see unusual appearances in 
the countenance, and warn the victim. But their 
warnings are generally unheeded. The diseased 
one feels but little distress, and laughs to scorn the 
admonitions of the physician. Day by day the cheek 
loses its bloom — the cough increases — the body is 
deprived of its strength and vigor. Then comes the 
terrible conviction that death is near. Must I die ? 
Must I be buried up in the cold ground ? Must I 
bid farewell to father, mother, sister 1 Must I 
leave this bright world — these fair flowers — these 
warbling birds — this beautiful scenery ? To^all these 
questions, comes back the fearful answer alike from 
the graves of the departed and the homes of the 
living. For the consumptive there is but little hope 
of life. No medicine has yet been discovered to 
cure— no physician skillful to save. When once 
the disease has fastened itself upon the system, it 
knows no remedy — but death. Following the con- 
viction, that death is at work, come days, weeks, 
and sometimes months of reflection. At ssuch times 
and under such circumstances, the mind will wander 
forth to the future. The things of this world will 
lose their charm. Every thing below the skies be 
comes transitory and fleeting. Objects in which 



124 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

delight has been taken, and in which life's hopes 
have centered, are divested of all their joy. 
What is the future 1 How will it be spent ? are 
questions which press themselves upon the mind, 
and claim the attention. Am I prepared to die? 
will echo through the chambers of the soul, and find 
an answer there. Whole days and weeks will be 
employed in the momentous considerations ; the long 
neglected Bible will be perused, and the soul, weary 
of its load of sorrow, will turn to Him who heareth 
the young ravens when they cry, and rest upon the 
Almighty arm for hope and comfort. It is not thus 
with any other disease. A few weeks, and often- 
times a few days, will terminate the fever, and lit- 
tle opportunity is given to prepare the mind for 
the fearful scenes of eternity. The soul is hurried 
away with awful haste. Death has no time to wait 
—no hours to spend in parley with the victim. He 
comes at once arrayed in terror and clothed with 
frowns. He strikes one fearful blow and all is over. 
The ] first symptoms are quickly followed by the 
funeral procession — the hearse — the coffin — the 
corpse. But little time is found to think or reflect ; 
and the victim is locked in the cold embrace of 
death, ere he had remembered that he was likely to 
die. 

But how different with the consumptive. He 
^omes to the gates of the sepulcher with measured 



ADVANTAGES OF C0NSU3IPTI0N. 125 

treid. Far away in the distance he hears the trem- 
bling waters of the river of death. He must cross 
that stream, and explore the land beyond it. He 
knows— he feels the sublimity of the passage before 
him ; and while his wasting body decays day by day, 
his soul gathers strength for the last awful voyage. 
While he who dies of fever or plague is like a man 
coming to the end of life at once, and dashing over 
a high precipice, with fearful plunge, into the gulf 
below, the consumptive resembles one descending 
a sloping plain, at the termination of which rolls a 
broad river. Almost imperceptible is his downward 
progress. The kind hand of sympathy plants sweet 
flowers in his way, and he descends to the grave 
with every token of friendship. 

It is a fearful thing to be hurried into eternity 

fearful to go with no time to call in the scattered 
thoughts, and center them on God— fearful to go 
and stand, with the warning of a few days only, in 
the midst of that august body which we shall find 
gathered around the throne of God. Time to pre- 
pare for death the consumption gives us. It sends 
its warning voice to admonish the thoughtless one, 
and lead to that contemplation of eternal things 
which will fit the soul to enter the presence of its 
Maker with shouts of triumph. 

2. Consumption is seldom^ to any great extent, 
accompanied with pain. A body racked and dis- 



126 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

torted with pain but poorly qualifies one to contem- 
platej with any proper feeling, the realities of eter- 
nity. A consideration of the vast, untried 'future, 
demands all the powers of mind which we can 
summon to our aid. We need for such a view, no 
intellect impaired by the infirmities of the physical 
system — no heart overburdened with its own pain- 
ful action. But you are reminded that most of 
the diseases to which men are subject, come at- 
tended with pain and sorrow. Sickness is univer- 
sally dreaded, because it is so completely interwoven 
with physical distress. Indeed, in many cases of 
sickness, the poor sufferer has no thought of any 
thing else but his own torment. His head, his heart, 
his limbs, his flesh — all thrill with keen and inde- 
scribable agony. Enter the chamber of one on 
. whose stout form the fever is doing its work of de- 
struction. Wasted and wan you will see him tossing 
from side to side, and finding no rest. On his cheek 
is the hectic flush, and his wild eye seems starting 
from its socket. No proper place is that sick bed 
to prepare for death— no time is the dying hour to 
secure a fitness to meet God. The aching body is 
enough for one man's thoughts, and engrosses all 
the attention. It is almost impossible to rally the 
feelings and thoughts around the Cross, while the 
physical system is, like a wheel of knives, cutting 
upon itself; and few are the cases of conversion 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 127 

which occui under such circumstances. Religion 
unsought until the pains of fever are on the system, 
is seldom sought or found at all. There is no fit- 
ness of time or place, and they who defer the sub- 
ject until such a season, exhibit the most fearful 
folly and madness. 

But consumption comes without pain. In all 
its early stages the victim suffers but little. Day by 
day the strength wastes away, the cheek becomes 
paler and the eye more- languid, and but little phys- 
ical distress is endured. So universal is the ab- 
sence of pain, that most consumptive people suppose 
they are not diseased at all, and they will sometimes 
waste away without believing that death is at hand. 
Now this freedom from pain I conceive to be an 
inestimable blessing. Did consumption bring with 
it the suffering which usually attends the fever and 
the plague it would be indeed a scourge. If, 
month after month, life should be prolonged in 
agony, the disease would be a' terrible evil — a fear- 
ful curse. But God, in His mercy, has otherwise 
ordained. To consumption He has given wasting 
and weakness, and made severer pain attendant 
upon those diseases which are soon terminated^ 
No disease could be more favorable to religious 
improvement than the one under consideration. 
Sitting in the cushioned chair, or reclining on the 
pillow, the mind gives itself up to the thoughts 



128 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

which naturally crowd upon it. Death and the 
grave — time and eternity — the fearful scenes of the 
judgment and future retribution pass in review. 
Just pain enough is felt to remind the sufferer 
that death may come, and lead away to the ever- 
lasting source of hope and comfort. God seems to 
allow consumption to lay its withering hand on 
many of His own people, that He may prove to a 
wicked world what the religion of Jesus can do for 
its possessors in hours of trial. He allows its rav- 
ages that He may prove the strength of faith, and 
the ardor of piety ; that He may develop the Chris- 
tian graces of His people, and, by His gentle deal- 
ings, lead the straying ones to the blood which pu- 
rifies from all sin. 

8. Consumption seldom dethrones the reason. 
The possession of intellect is essential to the ser- 
vice of God. When there is no reason, there is 
no religion. Piety has to do with the head as well 
as witb the heart, and when the head is radically 
defective, the heart will cease its regular action. 
A man without reason is a pitiable object, and if 
on earth there is one who needs the sympathy of 
men, it is he whose mind has become shattered and 
overthrown. He presents the awful spectacle of a 
man in ruins — a man, created by God — endowed 
with intellect fitted for immortality, crushed, and 
blasted, and destroyed. 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 129 

Now to destroy reason is the tendency of many 
prevalent diseases, and it is not unusual, when we 
enter the chamber of the sick man, to find him in 
a state of insanity, his reason gone, and he raving 
m delirium. Oftentimes insanity comes at the on- 
set, and no time is given to guard against it. It is 
evident that no preparation can be made for death 
under the influence of disease in this form. The 
insane man will appreciate no argument, be affected 
by no appeal, touched by no persuasions. If he 
has left the salvation of his soul until such an hour, 
he must leave it forever. If he has neglected to 
secure an advocate for the last great trial, he will 
stand at the eternal bar with none to defend or 
plead his cause. Reason has fled, the mind is in 
ruin, and when madness takes its flight the poojr 
sinner will be standing in the changeless world, a 
shivering outcast from the land of rest. But while 
insanity is frequently produced by other diseases, the 
consumptive always escapes it until the last stages, 
and the mind seldom loses its balance, or is de- 
throned. God, in His wisdom, has so ordained it, 
and this provision of His infinite knowledge is full 
of love and kindness to His poor, sufiering, sorrow- 
ing creatures. Were it otherwise, how dreadful 
would consumption be? With what horror would 
it be invested? How would it be dreaded and 
feared by the human family? But instead of be- 



130 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

coming weaker, tlie mind often grows stronger as 
the last scene of life draws near. Instead of min- 
gling unintelligible sounds and words without mean- 
ing, as is sometimes the case in other diseases, the 
language of the consumptive is full of reason, truth, 
and piety. Instead of reaching out to grasp dim 
shadows which fancy pictures before the excited 
mind, the hand of the dying one is often laid upon 
the Cross ; not in the madness of disease, but in 
the holy hope and confidence of the divine life. 

4. Consumption ends in Death. Seldom is it 
cured. When once it is settled upon the system 
the victim may well prepare for death. This fact 
is known and acknowledged by all, and we expect 
this disease to end sooner or later in dissolution. 
To many minds, the terrible certainty which at- 
tends consumption is one of its darkest features. 
Not so does it appear to me. The very fact, that 
hope of long life has gone, is calculated to turn the 
mind away to the more substantial hopes of heaven. 
In ordinary diseases, hope of recovery continues as 
long as life lasts, and often does the sick man die 
while thinking about his body, and forming plans 
for the future, when he should be attending to the 
concerns of his undying soul. Sooner or later we 
^ must all die. If we are prepared, the sooner our 
' turn comes the better it will be for us, and it seems 
to me that of all diseases to fit the heart, the con^ 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 131 

sumption is the best. With the end of life all 
earthly ambition dies, and when the sepulcher ap- 
pears in the distance, and we begin to realize that 
we shall soon enter it, we commence the work of 
preparation. The certainty of death, instead of 
driving us to despair, leads us, guides us, forces 
us to the throne of the Eternal, there to lie until 
the wave of sorrow shall have passed over. 

Thoughts like these which I have now presented, 
have been suggested by the melancholy death of 
one of the younger members of this congregation, 
whOj by the malady which we have discussed, was 
called, on Thursday last, to try the realities of 
eternity. In speaking of her death, I do not wish 
to forget that the pulpit is designed to show forth 
the praise of God, and not to eulogize any human 
being. I do not forget, that however much these 
friends may mourn their deceased child and sister, 
however fondly they may cherish her memory, on 
no ears would grate with more harshness, any at- 
tempt to exalt the virtues of her life, or over-esti- 
mate the glories of her death, than on theirs. The 
object of this discourse is to benefit the living — to 
lead this great crowd of human beings to such a 
preparation for death as will enable them to meet 
the monster with composure. The same path 
which she trod, we are to follow ; the same dark, 
deep, rolling river which she entered, we are to 



132 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

cross ; the same awful, unknown, and eternal fu- 
ture, into which her weary spirit pursued its way, 
upon the pilgrimage of ages, we are to explore. 
Our young friend was born in September, 1830. 
Her parents, brothers, and sisters are now with us, 
and you know them all. Beneath the yery shadow 
of our temple she has lived and died. Her earlier 
years were marked by nothing which claims a place 
in a religious discourse. She was a kind sister, 
an affectionate and obedient child, and a faithful 
friend. During the last summer her health began 
to fail, and signs of disease presented themselves. 
Long before they dared to announce it to their 
child, the parents saw her cheek fade, and her 
strength depart. Week after week they hoped for 
better things. Skillful physicians were employed, 
and new medicines used, but they were all in vain. 
The disease had entered the system, and was de- 
termined on conquest. Soon it became apparent 
that death was approaching, and the awful fact 
was announced to the sufferer. At first she could 
not believe it. So few Mere her pains of body that 
she imagined her friends unduly alarmed, and 
strove to allay their fears. While doing this, death 
was at work upon her system, and ere long she, 
herself, was compelled to believe that she was soon 
to die. The conviction came to her soul with ter- 
rible forebodings. Death was an event for which 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 133 

she had made no preparation. Though called by 
God many times, she had thus far refused to listen 
to His voice, or heed His friendly remonstrance. 
Like many others, she had cultivated an amiable 
disposition, and neglected the one thing needful,, 
and in that other world to which she was hasten- 
ing, had laid up no treasure, had secured no Friend. 
In her own home, on her cushioned chair, she sat 
day after day in silent thoughtfulness, pondering 
the question, "What shall I do to be saved i'^" 
Unknown to any of her friends, a terrible sourae 
of anguish was creeping into her mind. Long did 
she conceal her feelings from those around her. 
Not a single word escaped her lips by which the 
condition of her mind could be discovered, and in 
silence and alone she bore the heavy load. Her 
exercises of mind were not the results of any sud^ 
den fears, but the deep, all-powerful movings of 
the Holy Ghost. She felt that she was a sinner — 
that she had never appealed to God for pardon 
through His Son Jesus Christ — that she had no 
title to a mansion in the skies. Well did the 
cough, the increasing weakness and debility, teach, 
her that she had not long to live. To die she was. 
not ready, and hence in all the anguish of a soul 
just separating from the body, she determined to 
be reconciled to God. While thus out of Christj, 
her pious friends could give her but little encour- 
9 



134 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

agement. The minister^ the parents, all felt that 
it would be worse than cruelty to blind her eyes at 
such a moment ; to deceive her in regard to her real 
condition. She was going to her God, and had no 
hope, and they could only point her to " the Lamb of 
God who taketh away the sin of the world.'' She 
lived awhile in this condition, until she came to 
the determination to submit at once to God. She 
found that all earthly dependence was vain — all 
earthly hope futile, and her weary spirit turned 
away to God for life and salvation. 

We trust her sins were forgiven on the first Sab- 
bath of the present month. The day previous had 
been one of mental anxiety and disquietude, and with 
an earnestness which equalled the necessity of the 
case, she had sought the Divine favor. She went to 
her pillow that night with a heart almost bursting 
with grief. Dark heavy clouds hung over her, and 
she closed her eyes upon the gathering wrath. 
Sabbath came, a calm, beautiful day; and with the 
Sabbath came peace and resignation. The tortur- 
ing fears and doubts which had oppressed her mind 
before were gone. A strange unusual feeling came 
upon her. Still she did not possess that faith in 
Christ which is necessary to give hope and comfort, 
still she lingered about the gates of the city of De- 
struction, fearful to break away and fall into the 
arms of Christ. On the following Thursday, God 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 135 

was pleased to show His face ; the dark clouds were 
driven away; the gloom was dissipated— a light 
brighter than the sun broke in upon her soul— and 
she was free. To a question put by her father, in 
regard to her feelings, she replied, while she burst 
into a flood of tears : " I am so happy that I cannot 
tell you how I feel.'^ She seemed to be as Bun- 
yan's Christian pilgrim was, when he came to the 
Cross and looked upon it, and found his heavy bur- 
den loosed from his shoulders, and tumbling from 
his weary back into the sepulcher. The heavy, tor- 
turing load which she had borne for weeks had 
fallen. By faith she had fixed her eye upon the 
Cross ; Christ had become to her the hope of glory ; 
she was a new creature; old things Were passed 
away, and all things had become new. She wished 
now to sing. Tears, sadness, sighs, had taken their 
departure, and hope reigned within the temple of 
her soul. One or two of the members of the church 
came to sing with her. Unable herself to join, she 
lifted up her heart, and her redeemed spirit min- 
gled in the song. They sang : 

"Religion is a glorious treasure, 

The purchase of a Saviour's blood ♦ 
It fills the mind with consolation. 
It Jifts the heart to things above ; * 



136 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

"It calms our fears, it soothes our sorrows, 
It smoothes our way o'er life's rough sea ; 
*Tis mixed with goodness, meekness, patience— ^ 
This heavenly portion mine shall be." 

This, and other verses, expressive of the feelings 
of a pious heart, were sung, in which she seemed 
to take delight. In the following hymn she found 
sweet satisfaction : 

" Jesus, my all, to Heaven is gone 
He whom I fix my hopes upon 
His track I see, and I'll pursue 
The narrow way till Him I view. 

" Lo ! glad I come, and thou, blest Lamb, 
Shalt take me to thee, whose I am ; 
Nothing but sin have I to give, 
Nothing but love shall I receive.*' 

In a happy frame of mind, clouded by an occa- 
sional doubt, which, like the vapors of the air, 
which sometimes hide the sun, but do not put it 
out, she continued one week. On Thursday morn- 
ing last I was summoned to her bed-side, to see her 
die. Around her pillow were congregated a com- 
pany of mourners, on whose countenances, grief was 
written in visible characters. I felt — we all felt 
that human aid was vain, and all that remained for 
us was prayer. And pray we did. From many a 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 137 

heart in that chamber went up the silent but heart- 
felt supplication, ''Lord Jesus, receive her spirit.'^ 
Almost an hour before she died, she beckoned to 
her father, who stood beside her. As he leaned 
over her, she whispered, " I am happy. I am ready 
to depart — I thought I was gone once, but my spirit 
has returned to this world again. '^ To the ques- 
tion, is Christ precious 1 she replied quickly, " 
yes, yes.'' At thirty minutes after twelve o'clock 
she died ; sweetly as a child falls asleep she departed. 
Amid our silent prayers, as we stood around her, 
her spirit ascended to the God who gave it, and 
brothers and sisters stood weeping over nothing but 
the clay-cold corpse. Just before she died, the 
world seemed to recede from her view, and ere she 
ceased to breathe, her spirit seemed to be beyond 
its influence. '' I see Him, I see Him," was her 
triumphant expression, as her dim eye lost sight of 
father, mother, brother, sister, and became fixed 
alone on Christ. " I see Him — I see Him." Yes, 
sainted one, thou dost see Him, every pang He has 
taken from thy beating heart — every tear He has 
wiped from thy weeping eyes. Yes, thou dost see 
Him ! Thine eye is not dim now with the film of 
death — no vail hides His shining form. Gaze on 
Him, departed disciple — gaze, on Him to all eter- 
nitj. 

Yesterday she was buried. At early morn we 



138 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

assembled around her coffin. A large number of 
sympathizing friends congregated together. An aged 
man, with trembling tone, sang the hymn commenc- 
ing? 

" Life is the time to serve the Lord ; 
The time to ensure the great reward." 

The minister commended the mourners and the 
people to the care of God, and then the procession 
moved away on its mournful mission. To a distant 
tomb they bore the body, and amid tears and sighs, 
laid it down to sleep until the morning of the res- 
urrection, and the last sad office was performed. 
Now she slumbers, disturbed not by the wintry 
blast which sweeps over the field of graves — un- 
stained by sin, and unterrified by any of the as- 
saults of foes. And who on earth would wish to 
summon her again to this world of sin 1 Who would 
have her exchange her harp of gold, her crown of 
glory, her robe of righteousness, for the employments 
and sorrows of this world? Who would disturb her 
song of glory, which to-day is swelling out with an- 
gel anthems, and coming up before God with accept- 
ance? No, let no murmuring thought find its way 
up to her pure abode — let her body repose in peace 
beneath the bosom of the earth, and her spirit live 
eternally in heaven. 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 139 

** Sister, rest from sin and sorrow, 
Death is o'er, and life is won ; 
On thy slumber dawns no morrow. 
Rest ; thine earthly race is run." 

" Fare thee well ; though wo is blending 
With the tones of earthly love, 
Triumph high, and joy unending, 
Wait thee in the realms above.'' 

The parents of our deceased friend have met with 
a severe trial. Many times, they have gone to the 
grave, to deposit there the cold remains of the fondly 
loved and early lost. They have known how sad a 
thing it is to drink the cup of sorrow and bereave- 
ment, and now are called to lay a new sacrifice upon 
the altar of Christian submission. But how many 
evidences of mercy and goodness cluster around 
even this severe dispensation. God has mingled 
joy with the sorrow, and in the midst of judgment has 
remembered mercy. Had their child gone to the 
grave, a stranger to the hope of heaven, had she 
died without a trust in the love of Christ, had she 
closed her eyes in the last, long, dreamless sleep, 
without a view of Him whose smile is life, with what 
feelings of sadness would they have bewailed her 
early fall. Had such been the case, they would 
have followed her to the sepulcher distressed with 
grief and sorrow. But God called after His stray- 



140 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

ing child — at the eleventh hour He forgave her sins, 
took away all fear of death, and spoiled the victory 
of the grave. They saw the chamber in which their 
suffering daughter died become the scene of brilliant 
conquest — they saw death conquered and subdued 
by the faith of her who now slumbers in the dark- 
ness of the tomb. And shall they mourn ? yes, they 
may ; Christ wept at the grave of His friend, and 
poured His tears of sorrow there ; and when our 
loved ones depart, tears are the appropriate testi- 
monials of our aflfection. 

The brothers and sisters are admonished by this 
sad and awful stroke of providence* Not long ago 
their sister's cheek beamed with the roseate hue of 
health. Vigorous and strong she moved forward to 
her daily duties, with the prospect of death far away 
in the distance. But a change has occurred, which 
they can, as yet, scarcely realize. Day by day they 
will feel it more and more. They will go home from 
this house to-day to see her vacant chair, her de- 
serted place at the table, her books, and the gar- 
ments which she has been accustomed to wear. 
And will they heed this admonition? Will they 
listen to the voice of God ? Will they prepare for 
that event which cometh alike to all ? That tomb 
in which you laid your sister's form is not yet full. 
Within its shades stands a grim monster who is 
calling for other victims, and soon will pronounce 



ADl ANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION, 141 

your names. To lie thus low, and pale, and cold j 
are you ready ? 

To the young people of this whole congregation, 
the warning comes in thunder tones, '' Be ye also 
ready, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son 
of Man Cometh.'' But a few days since, one of 
your number came to the sanctuary, as you have 
come to-day, in all the vigor and buoyancy of 
youth. Now, while you are listening to the services 
of this hour, she is slumbering beneath the surface 
of the earth ; her pale form reposes there in the si- 
lence of a dreamless sleep. How long, think you, 
it will be ere another, and another, and another, of 
this throng shall depart on the same sad j*ourney, 
and lie as low, and as pale, and as cold ? How long, 
think you, ere all who are now assembled within 
these walls, and who are moving to the close of hu- 
man life, shall descend on the lone pilgrimage of 
death to find shelter from the storms and tempests 
of this world in the oblivion of the grave ? Not 
long ! The race of man is one long procession, 
marching to the tomb. The front rank has to-day 
entered the dark portals, to-morrow another rank 
will disappear, and every day of life will hide from 
human gaze a crowd of men and women who are 
changing time for eternity. In this discourse I 
have described death as a horrid monster, who comes 
to break up family circles^ to sever the fondest 



142 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

earthly connections, and rend the ties which hind 
parent to child, hushand to wife, brother to sister. 
I have spoken of death as a conqueror, moving in 
terrible majesty, swaying an iron scepter, and reek- 
ing in human blood. But thanks be to God, death 
is not supreme, his power is not infinite, his reign 
is not eternal. By faith in Christ, the potent wea- 
pon of the Christian, the believer is enabled to tri- 
umph over this most terrible of conquerors, and spoil 
the victory and dominion of the grave. Christ has 
become, to all who trust in Him, " the resurrection 
and the life." He has placed in the grave an ev- 
erlasting light, which streams its radiance far and 
wide along the shores of eternity. He has dispel- 
led the clouds which hang over the mouth of the 
sepulcher, and placed a brightness there which en- 
circles the dying Christian with a halo of glory. 
Supported by Him, we have seen our young sister, 
whose death we have attempted to improve to our 
spiritual benefit, walk unterrified amid the shadows 
which gather over the last awful boundary of life, 
and triumph while she died. If called soon to ex- 
change worlds and pass away to the bar of the Infi- 
nite, would your death resemble hersl As your 
eye grew dim, and your voice failed, and your heart 
ceased to beat, would the vision of your soul extend 
far beyond the vail, and discerning Christ standing 



ADVANTAGES OF CONSUMPTION. 143 

by the throne of God, lead you to exclaim with holy 
pleasure, "I see Him, I see Him.'' 

Faith in God removes all the terror, and fear, and 
sorrow of the tomb, and makes the grim monster ,a 
friend to help us on the passage to eternal life. 
Will you secure that faith, and be prepared for 
death, ready to meet the tyrant whether he comes 
in dreadful plague, in burning fever, or in the long 
wasting consumption, which is emphatically "the 
destruction which wasteth at noonday." 

** Death is the crown of life ; 
Were death denied, poor man would live in vain. 
Death wounds to cure ; we fall, we rise, we reign. 
Spring from our fetters, hasten to the skies 
When blooming Eden gathers on our sight. 
The king* of terrors is the prince of peace.*' 



VIII. 

THE HEAVENLY RECOGNITION. 

FOK now we see through a glass darkly ; but then face to face.-Paul. 

That the dead will rise from the grave, and live 
in a future world, is by most persons acknowledged. 
When a friend departs, this precious truth is ap- 
plied to the consolation of those that remain, and 
becomes a balm of healing to many a crushed and 
wounded heart. There was a moment when one of 
the nations of the earth, in the mad delirium of de- 
pravity, attempted to blot out this doctrine and rob 
man of the comfort which it affords. " Death is an 
eternal sleep," was written on the gravestone, and 
recorded over the gates of cemeteries, and a cheer- 
less infidelity took the place of an enlightened and 
soul-inspiring faith. Some few in this land are 
so lost to all that is human and divine, that they 
deny a future state, while the evidences are as pos- 
itive as any of the facts of history. But man uni- 
versally is looking out for something hereafter ; to 
a future world, where that which is in part shall be 
done away. The good and the bad alike are con- 
scious of a principle within which is struggling 
against the flesh and aspiring to a greater knowledge 



THE HEAVENLY RECOGNITION. 145 

Mind to a nobler being. It is the effort of the soul 
to burst its chains, and fly away and measure the 
vast and infinite unknown. 

But while a future existence is believed, the pre- 
cise mode of that existence is not so clearly ascer- 
tained. While the fact that our departed friends 
shall live after death is readily received, the ques- 
tions, shall we live with them? shall we know 
them ? are not so easily answered. To prove that 
we shall recognize our departed friends in a future 
world, and to apply to afflicted mourners the com- 
fort to be derived from the fact, is the object of 
the present article. 

1. I argue it from the character and nature of 
the resurrection. We are very clearly given to 
understand that we shall be raised personally. 
We are not to lose our identity, but are to be 
raised up, the same individuals that we died. We 
shall comprehend every change which has taken 
place in us, and our relations to earth instead of 
being forgotten, will be more clearly discerned 
and understood. Unless this be the case, virtue 
can have no reward, and vice can have no punish- 
ment. The great idea of a future judgment de- 
rives its force and significancy from the fact that 
every man will know himself, and be sensible of his 
past conduct. The drunkard will remember his 
debauch ; the Sabbath-breaker will remember his 



146 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

profanation of holy time ; the benevolent man will 
recall his acts of charity, and in himself receive 
his reward. The sinner will not find himself to be 
the fragment of a race, and answerable for the sins 
of that race. The just man will not lose him- 
self in the great aggregate of virtue, and be re- 
warded 'because in tile world there was so much of 
good. The one will bear his own sins ; the other 
will be rewarded for his own virtues. And if we 
know ourselves, and are perfectly conscious of our 
errors and virtues, shall we not also know those 
who shared those deeds'? If the sinner can re- 
member the Sabbath when he dared profane the 
holy hours consecrated to the service of heaven ; 
if he can know where he was, and what his faults 
were, must he not also know who shared his guilt, 
and with him is to enter into suflFering ? If a man 
is conscious of having defrauded his neighbor, must 
he not know that neighbor, and with the crime 
must there not be the remembrance of the person 1 
If a Christian gave to a poor widow an armful of 
wood, or a loaf of bread, or a sum of money, and 
the act comes up clearly and distinctly, will it not 
be indissolubly connected with the memory of the 
widow herself? A writer on this subject says: 
^^If we are to be conscious of the acts of our 
former existence, if we are to remember our con- 
duct while we were on earth, we must likewise re- 



THE HEAVENLY RECOGNITION. 147 

member those among whom we had our conversa- 
tion ; those who, in a great measure, made our con- 
duct what it was. Our duties, virtues, sins, vices, 
arise almost altogether from the relations of soci- 
ety. We cannot remember the one, without call- 
ing to mmd the other. They are inseparably 
united, and the imagination cannot disjoin them. 
If I should remember that I had done a particular 
injury on earth, I must remember him whom I in- 
jured. If I should remember that I had performed 
a particular act of benevolence, I must remember 
the person whom I assisted. How much more 
should I remember, in the review of my life, those 
with whom I had been connected in the daily and 
most intimate intercourse of life 5 those who had 
exercised the most efficacious influence, in the form- 
ation of my character ; those who had called forth, 
and gained, and kept the best afiections of my 
heart. The recollection of my former self and my 
former associates, must be produced together, and 
from the same principle. It the one be evident, 
the other is so too.'^ 

Now if one person be recognized in heaven, all 
must be. If we are so constituted in the future 
world that we can recognize a person with whom 
we have committed crime, or to whom we have 
done an act of kindness, we must be so constituted 
as to recognize all our friends. The more deeply 



^J18 ANGEL WHISPERS, 

and fondly we have loved them here, . the more 
readily we shall know them there, for here we see 
through a glass darkly, but there face to face. 

2. I argue this doctrine from the employments 
of heaven. These are such as to require a knowl- 
edge, and consequently a recognition of each other. 
The saved 'are represented as uniting in one song, 
in praise of one person at one time. Their har- 
monious anthems rise together, and swell out in a 
full, deep chorus of praise to God and the Lamb. 
They recognize Christ in order to praise, and it 
seems to me to be an essential part of harmony 
that they should know and understand each other. 
As far as we have any knowledge, Christ appears 
in heaven with such a body as we shall have after 
we are raised. If we can recognize Him, why not 
all who are like Christ, for in His likeness are we 
all to appear who wait for His coming. 

The language in which praise is offered to God 
and the Lamb implies this very strongly. Not one 
of all the thousands, and tens of thousands wh6 
stand before the throne night and day, ever inti- 
mates that he is alone. His song is a constant 
recognition of a great company who join in the 
same hallowed strain. Not " I,^' but '' we ;'' not 
^^me,'' but " us," is the phraseology employed on 
every occasion, and each seems to have the fullest 
knowledge of, and fellowship with those who are 



THE HEAVENLY RECOGNITION. 149 

around him. From all those delightful services of 
heaven, given by John, we can gather no other 
idea, and all he saw must have been an illusion if 
the saints in glory do not recognize each other. 

3. I argue this doctrine from the fact that an- 
gels and departed spirits recognize those who re- 
main on earth. At one time they are represented 
as ministering spirits, sent forth to comfort those 
who are heirs of salvation, hovering over the earth, 
and whispering words of peace and comfort to 
those who are in sorrow. At another time they 
are represented as assembled on high, and rejoic- 
ing over the conversion of the sinner, and the re- 
formation of an outcast. Now they are leading 
out some Lot from the devoted city, and then shut- 
ting the mouths of the lions that they may not 
harm the servant of God. Now they walk with 
the martyrs through the fiery furnace, and then 
visit them in prison and strike off their chains. 
Now if the dead know us, why may they not know 
each other ? If they now, on viewless wings, may 
hover over the world to comfort those that mourn, 
and do God's will among His children here, why 
may they not know us after we have arrived in 
paradise and tuned our harps by theirs. There 
also seems to be a moral necessity that those who 
have seen our degradation, and heard our groans, 
should see our exaltation and our glory ; that after 
10 



150 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

having comforted us in our sorrow, they should 
share our praises. 

4. There have been instances in which inhabit- 
ants of the earth have recognized not only angels, 
but departed saints. Angelic visits were frequent 
under the Old Testament dispensation ; and clear, 
safe, certain visions of saints and angels have been 
given under the New Economy. But at the trans- 
figuration of Christ, Peter and his associates saw 
Moses and Elias in shining raiment. For awhile 
they held communion, the saints of earth and the 
saints of heaven. The theme upon which they 
conversed has been handed down to us, and their 
amazement and joy described to us. This was not 
a vision, but an actual interview, and Moses and 
Elias were as surely present as were Peter and his 
Lord. We have in this fact a strong confirmation 
of our doctrine, for Moses and Elias doubtless ap- 
peared in the same form, and wearing the same 
garments as they possess to-day, and will possess 
when we are called to sit down with them in the 
kingdom of heaven. This interview between the 
disciples and Moses and Elias, is an incontroverti- 
ble source of proof, and no description of the ap- 
pearance of the saints in glory, could give us a 
clearer idea of their state than we find in the gos- 
pel account of the transfiguration of Christ. The 
bodies which these two persons had were like the 



THE HEAVENLY RECOGNITION. 151 

body ^hich Christ had after His resurrection, and 
in which He ^ascended to heaven, and in which, 
doubtless. He now lives, and will continue to live, 
as long as He is the head and pattern of His saints. 
5. The interview held between Abraham and 
Dives confirms the truth of our doctrine. These 
two departed persons saw and recognized each 
other, though between them there was a great gulf 
fixed. Christ doubtless designed to represent the con- 
dition of men after death, and He never would have 
used such a parable, or given utterance to such a 
narrative, if there were not between the spirits of 
the departed a conscious connection and inter- 
course. As the rich man looked, he saw Abraham 
with Lazarus in his bosom. He was in abject 
misery. His tongue w^as hot and parched with his 
continual outcries, and he represents his torment 
as "a flame.'' "Father Abraham,'' he said, 
" send Lazarus, that he may dip his .finger in 
water." Abraham replied, and gave the reason 
why the request could not be complied with. Thus ' 
between a saint in bliss, and a lost soul in woe, 
there was not only a recognition but a conversation. 
And if these could recognize each other, and Laza- 
rus could know Abraham, and rest upon his bo- 
som, I am at a loss to know why we all may not 
see and know those whom we loved on earth, and 
■who are awaiting our entry into heaven. 



152 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

6. I argue the same fact from tlie general repre- 
sentations of Scripture, that we shall see and know 
all things hereafter. Our vision is to be enlarged, 
our knowledge much increased, our views of celes- 
tial things unbounded, in a word, we are to be like 
Christ. This knowledge must comprehend persons 
as well as things. That would be but a partial il- 
lumination which would enable us to know that our 
friends were happy with the Lord, but would not 
enable us to recognize them, while they were stand- 
ing by our side, and singing the same song. It 
seems absolutely essential that we should recognize 
our friends in the future, in order to the attain- 
ment of that full complete knowledge, to which we 
are permitted to aspire. Much of the knowledge 
of things must be included in, and indissolubly con- 
nected with a knowledge of persons, and before we 
can comprehend all that wisdom and knowledge 
which will be the portion of the just, we must enter 
into fellowship with those who have been removed 
from earth to rewards on high. No partial and 
limited knowledge could fill the broad and compre- 
hensive promises of complete illumination which 
have been given, and the fulfillment of which is re- 
served to every saint. 

7. We are referred to specific cases in which men 
divinely inspired have looked forward with joy to a 
reunion with their departed kindred. The soul of 



THE HEAVENLY RECOGNITION. 153 

Job was stayed upon this doctrine. It was a sup- 
port and comfort to him when his children were 
falling one by one into the grave. It was this that 
covered David's face with smiles instead of tears 
when his child was removed to a world from which 
the traveler does not return. Paul seemed to have 
this view, and on no other principle can some of 
his assertions be explained. The same thing is 
implied in the promises made to Martha in Beth- 
any, that her brother should rise again. If she 
should not see him and know him, his resurrection 
could be but a poor solace for her afflictions. 
Christ doubtless intended to teach her that she 
should see him, that they should be reunited, as 
clearly as He did the bare fact of his resurrection. 
The language of Jesus cannot be limited to that 
one occasion, or that one person, and the bringing 
up of Lazarus, and his restoration to his friends, 
was a proof and pledge that He who is the resur- 
rection and the life, will at last reunite all who 
love Him, in an eternal meeting. 

8. There is an instinctive conviction that our 
departed friends will be known to us hereafter. I 
know that no argument can be built upon so nar- 
row a foundation, and yet if it is not the teaching 
of nature and reason, I understand not why in 
every man's mind is this looking to, and expecta- 
tion of, a union after death. There seem to be 



154 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

some doctrines which are intuitive. The mind 
naturally goes out after them. The idea of God 
is one : the future state is another : the immor- 
tality of the soul is a third. The doctrine which I 
am endeavoiing to establish seems to me to come 
into this category. The teacher of it is within 
man, and I think he might learn it, imperfectly 
perhaps, without a written revelation. The moth- 
er who loves her child believes that she shall see 
his little form again. Nobody has told her so ; it 
looks improbable, and she could not prove it if she 
should try. But she believes it; sophistry and 
argument to the averse could not convince her of 
her mistake ; she feels it, as she feels there is a 
God ; she believes it, as she believes in a resurrec- 
tion. There is a revelation in her own heart, to 
which her whole being responds. 

9. It will also be observed that the passages of 
Scripture which are given for the comfort of mourn- 
ers must be based on this doctrine. None of these 
passages intimate that the dead shall come back to 
this life, or that we shall escape from the mes- 
senger of the grave. They all bend forward to a 
period in the future, and gather around the hour 
when the losses we have sustained shall be re- 
paired. There would be some comfort in knowing 
where our friends were, and how they were em- 
ployed, bu; there would be a sting to death, and a 



THE HEAVENLY RECOGNITION. 155 

victory to the grave, if no reunion among the right- 
eous were to take place hereafter. The Scriptures 
would lose much of their power to assuage the grief 
of bereaved friends, and lift up the troubled heart 
of sorroA^5 if this heavenly truth should be blotted 
out. They would be destitute of much of that ef- 
ficacy to console and comfort, which now make 
them the best mourner's book which can be read. 

In conclusion, I remark, this doctrine is calcu- 
lated to give comfort to every disciple of Christ. 
It assures us that the separation from friends which 
was so much mourned and lamented, is to be a 
brief and temporary one. The voices which once 
fell on the ear will be heard again, though now 
hushed in death. The countenances we once loved, 
we shall love again, when they beam with immor- 
tal youth, and glow with the love of heaven, though 
now they are decayed in the grave. The Christian 
will meet and recognize in heaven the old. worthies 
of the patriarchal dispensation, who have come 
with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to rejoice before 
God. He shall see David, whose harp once made 
sweet melody on earth, but which is now attuned 
to the bliss of heaven. He will see the king who 
reigned in wisdom, but whose head now wears a 
more dazzling crown than that which decorated his 
brow, when the queen of Sheba came to pay her 
homage at his feet. He will find the wailing Jere- 



156 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

raiah, wliose doleful lamentations we read, as a 
mournful evidence of his sad feelings over the sins 
of men. He will meet with Daniel, who " went up 
through a den of lions, safe in the promised land.'' 
He w^ill gaze upon the countenances of the three 
Hebrew worthies who braved the wrath of a proud 
king, dared the vengeance of a fiery furnace, 
walked through the seven-fold heat, and emerged 
to be received with great honor. He will see £he 
Evangelists, whose works he has read with such de- 
light, and whose simple narratives have been the 
food of his soul while in this world. He will find 
Paul there, surrounded by a Gentile throng who 
have been saved through his influence. Nor will 
he find them alone. Every age has sent some to 
swell the anthem of the redeemed, and there, in 
that joyful world, will the Christian find those 
friends who have gone up from love, faith, and la- 
bor here, to shout high praises above. 

His own loved children, and all who have died 
in faith, will the true disciple find above. His joy 
will know no measure as he folds to his arms those 
whom he knew and loved below. His heaven will 
be complete when the saints, his owxj^ family, and 
Christ himself, he finds all safe in heaven : 

"These glorious minds, how bright they shine; 
'Whence all their bright array ? 



THE HEAVENLY RECOGNITION, 157 

How came they to the happy seats 
Of everlasting day ?' 

** From torturing pains to endless joys 
On fiery wheels they rode, 
And strangely wash'd their raiment white 
In Jesus' dying blood. 

** Now they approach a spotless God, 
And bow before His throne ; 
Their warbling harps and sacred songs 
Adore the Holy One. 

" The unvail'd glories of His face 
Among His saints reside, 
While the rich treasure of His grace 
Sees all their wants supplied." 

But the recognitions of the future will be painful 
to some. Those who go from earth unprepared for 
heaven, will meet their former friends with terri- 
ble anguish. To say nothing of the pain which 
the husband must feel to see his wife, or the father 
his child, entering heaven, and he shut out, what 
sorrow will arise in the soul as the sinner recog- 
nizes, before the great white throne, the object of 
his wrong, or the companions of his guilt. The 
robber will recognize the "man whom he robbed. 
The murderer will meet his victim. The unfaith- 
ful parent will meet his child. The unfaithful 
minister will find his congregation, which, through 



158 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

him, has been lulled to a false security ; and all 
men will meet the Saviour, who bled for them, but 
who by so many has been so cruelly rejected. 

The recognitions of eternity will be full of holy 
pleasure, or of deep and aggravated misery to every 
one of us, and it becomes with us a question of no 
small solicitude as to where we shall meet, and with 
whom we shall live forever. Shall we, as the vail 
of the unknown is drawn up before us, recognize 
those who have loved or hated Christ 1 those whose 
characters are pure, or impure? who have been 
our companions in sin and degradation, or our as- 
sociates in the service of God ? 

Oh, let us prepare to meet the righteous, and 
live with them. Let us, by humble faith in Christ, 
and holy love to all our fellow-men, be ready to 
enter, with a glorified assembly, into the presence 
and the praise of God. Then shall we recognize, 
not the vile and abandoned, but the pure and lovely, 
who have washed their robes, and gone up to dwell 
with Christ. Take courage, afflicted father, you 
will see j^our son again ; mother, you will find your 
daughter there ; brother, your sister will recognize 
you as you enter heaven ; sister, your brother shall 
risf again, and you wiU know him. 

" There sLall the followers of the Lamb 

Join in immortal songs ; 
And endless honors to His name 

Employ their tuneful tongues." 



IX. 

THE TRIPLE CROWN. 

And they had on their htjads crowns of gold. — Rev. 

The world is much indebted to the persecutions 
of Christians, and the malice of wicked men to- 
ward the people of God. Out of the fiery furnace 
have come some of the richest legacies which mar- 
tyrs ever bequeathed to a sinning, suffering world. 
The imprisonmnt of John Bunyan, a poor, despised 
disciple of a dishonored Master, in Bedford Jail, 
was the means of bringing out the " Pilgrim's Pro- 
gress,'' a work which has done more to cheer the 
saints, and encourage men under the different pha- 
ses of Christian experience than perhaps any book, 
the Bible alone excepted. The malice of the ene- 
mies of religion toward Calvin gave vigor to his 
years, and many of the doctrines of his Institutes 
were unfolded to him in answer to the prayer offered 
in a time of trial. 

The confinement of John on the lone ^gean rock, 
has furnished us with the Revelation, a revered 
book, now surrounded with perplexities and mys- 
teries, but hereafter to be opened, explored, and ful- 
filled. Malice overreached itself, and the wrath 



160 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

of man was made to praise the Lord of Hosts. In 
the vision of Patmos, John had many cheering 
views of the future glory of the saints. He saw 
them lifted from trials and tribulations here, to in- 
finite joy and peace at God's right hand. Among 
other honors which he saw paid to them was the 
conferring of crowns, which they wore with dignity, 
or cast at the feet of/ Jesus. Such a crown now 
decorates the head of every saint in glory, and will 
decorate the head of every one who shall go up from 
this world to swell the chorus of the redeemed. 
Will such a crown be yours 1 If so, happy are you. 
1. It will be a crown of righteousness. The 
saint will not wear it as a usurper. He will not ap- 
pear in heaven with a diadem which does not belong 
to him. By a union with Christ, the disciple is 
brought into sonship with God, and shares with 
Christ the royal honors of His father's empire. 
Many of the crowns which have been worn by earth- 
ly monarchs have been stokn from other heads, and 
worn only by the right which might gives. But all 
through eternity the saint will feel that his crown is 
his right, through his sublime faith in Him who is ^ 
the Head over all things. I do not mean that the ^^^ 
Christian will claim a crown in heaven on the basis 
of his own merits. No, these are too few and worth- 
less, and with these alone he would rather hide his 
liead in the dust, than lift it up before God. The 



THE TRIPLE CROWN. 161 

righteousness which he claims is that which Christ 
wrought out, and which faith has transferred to him. 
It is a perfect righteousness which needs no amend- 
ment, but will shine brighter and brighter as eter- 
nal ages roll away. 

Nor will any one dispute the right and title of the 
Christian to h>*^ crown. The crowns which mon- 
archs wear are often made matter of dispute. Na- 
tions are convulsed, armies are arrayed, and scenes 
of dreadful bloodshed and crime are witnessed. But 
the Christian's crown was won without a single drop 
of blood being shed by hostile armies, and it will be 
retained without military assistance ; it was 'secured 
without fraud, and it will be worn without injustice. 
It will be rusted by no widows' tears and orphans' 
blood ; it will have no inscriptions of revenge or 
hate; it will be menaced with no frowns and re- 
proaches ; it will merit no scorn and contempt ; it 
will never be stricken off or taken away. Such a 
crown will decorate the head of every child of God, 
as he appears in glory and takes his high position 
before God. Whatever may have been his earthly 
condition, beggar or slave, he will secure his royal 
honors from hands which never give in vain. This 
enables him to go through the river of death shout- 
ing, Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of 
righteousness^ which God, the Judge, shall give me 
m the presence of all my foes. 



162 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

2. It will be a crown of possessions. Many a 
head has worn a crown, but possessed no kingdom. 
The one is not always a sure indication of the oth- 
er. But the crown which will adorn the head of 
the saint in glory will have engraven deeply upon 
it, a title to infinite riches and unfading honors. 
It will give him happiness. Deprived of this to a 
great extent while walking amid the sorrows of 
earth, he will receive it in the future state. The 
heart which once beat with anguish, and the life 
which was once encompassed with evils, now find 
perfect peace. A flood of holy love flows into the 
soul, and the raptured saint has as much delight 
as his expanding sotil can bear. He has sung, 
while a wanderer here below, 

*' There is an hour of peaceful rest, 
To mourning wanderers given ; 
There is a joy for souls distressed, 
A balm for every wounded breast ; 
'Tis found alone in heaven." 

He sings this no more, for the bliss of heaven 
is realized, and the last sorrow has been removed 
from him. 

It gives knowledge. What does man know while 
in the flesh '] How narrow his vision ! How 
bounded his perception ! But death introduces 
him into the empire of knowledge, and unfolds to 



THE TRIPLE CROWN. 163 

him all that angels know and feel. He passes from 
a region where all is shadowy and cloud}^, to intense 
and dazzling brightness. New lieights he climbs : 
new depths he explores : new fields are ranged, 
and new wonders are found. His imperfect know- 
ledge is done away, and he comprehends that which 
in the flesh he never conceived. 

It gives honor. Wherever the Christian's head, 
encircled with his crown, appears, it is covered with 
glory. The heavenly hosts honor the ransomed 
disciple. The angels look upon him with respect, 
and mingle his name in their songs. They see in 
him a child of God ; in his countenance they recog- 
nize the lineaments of Christ ; on his head is a crown 
which the righteous Judge has given him. They 
do not worship him, but they honor him as a mem- 
ber of Christ, and love him as a child of God, and 
rejoice over him as a trophy of victorious grace. 

It gives purity. It denotes exalted holiness. 
It contains a mystic charm to guard the possessor 
from all temptation and sin. There was a time 
when the Christian could sin ; when he did sin ; 
when his life was marred and spotted with trans- 
gressions. That time has passed away, and he sins 
no more. The crown upon his head shines with 
real and unaffected excellence — it is a crown of 
righteousness. Whoever sees it, hails its wearer 
as a redeemed man^ a ransomed man — a man 



164 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

cleared from all the claims of law, and justified 
before God. Like the elect angels he was on pro- 
bation once, but like them he is now in a state of 
fixed and permanent holiness. There is no fear 
of fall ; the crown can never be stricken from his 
head : God's character, government, and law, are 
pledged to keep it there, and sustain the Christian 
forever. 

In a word, the Christian's crown gives him all 
he wants, all he asks for, and all he can think 
about. No wish is left unsatisfied ; all things he 
is entitled to, for all things are Christ's, and Christ 
is God's. The mines of love, pure joy, wisdom, 
purity, and gladness which it opens before him, are 
deep and inexhaustible. 

3. It will be a crown of life. No head wears a 
crown long on earth. Death strikes it ofi", and lays 
its wearer low in the grave. But the crown which 
the Christian will wear in heaven, will confer upon 
its possessor perpetual life. It was given for life, 
and will be worn through life — an endless life. 

What a prospect is here before the Christian ? 
what a glorious vision of heavenly blessedness? 
how consoling under trials ? how elevating to our 
faith ? how must it reconcile us to the departure 
of friends,, who are given to us awhile, that we may 
give them back to God. The parent can lose his 
child with the prospect of heaven before him. 



THE TJIIPLE CROWN. 165 

the mother can bury her daughter, and dream of 
her as a harping spirit, a sweet angel of life and 
glory. 

" We have read of a young mother who had 
newly buried her first-born. Her pastor went to 
visit her, and on finding her sweetly resigned, he 
asked her how she attained such resignation ? She 
replied ; ' I used to think of my boy continually — 
whether sleeping or waking; to me he seemed 
more beautiful than either children. I was disap- 
pointed if visitors omitted to praise his eyes, or his 
curls, or the robes I wrought for him with my nee- 
dle. At first I believed it the natural current of 
a mother's love. Then I feared it was pride, and 
sought to humble myself before Him who resisteth 
the proud. One night, in my dreams, I thought 
an angel stood beside me, and said : ' Where is 
the little bud thou nursest in thy bosom 1 I am 
sent to take it away. Where is the little harp ? 
Give it to me ! It is like those which sound the 
praise of God in heaven.' I awoke in tears ; my 
beautiful babe dropped like a bud which the worm 
pierced; his last wailings was like the shattered 
harp-strings ; all my world seemed gone ; still in 
my agony I listened, for there was a voice in my 
soul, like the voice of the angel who warned me, 
saying : ^ God loveth a cheerful giver.' I laid my 
mouth in the dust, and said, let thy will be mine ; 
11 



166 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

and as I rose, tliougli tlie tear lay on my cheek, 
there was a smile also,' '' 

Who would not wish to wear the crown — the 
triple crown which giveth all things'? All may 
wear it ; the rich, the poor, the bond, the free, the 
learned, the ignorant. It is offered to all who are 
willing to purchase it by a life of holy meekness, 
and confiding trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. It 
is given to the weary old man, and to the sweet, 
innocent child, who lives only long enough to feel 
life's sorrows, and to know from what it has been 
redeemed. 

How applicable to this subject are the touching 
. lines below, which were written upon the death of 
a little girl, who came into life, and soon closed 
her eyes, and laid her weary limbs in the grave : 

*' * Oh ! I am weary, mother !' said a faint and dying 
child, , 

As she turned to those who loved her, with a look all 
sweet and mild : 
I slept tli rough all the night, mother; and see! 'tis 
morning now. 

But a band of pain and weariness is clasped upon my 
brow. 

So weary ! would that I could tread again my cham- 
ber floor, 

And gaze without the window of my pleasant home 
once more ! 



THE TRIPLE CROWN. 167 

Could I but drink the early dew, and scent tlie open- 
ing flowers, 

And catch the matin songs of birds that nestle in my 
bowers ! 

Might I but on our peach trees look, and on the vines 
again. 

And hear along our lowly roof the pattering of the 
rain! 

But oh ! I am so weary, mother ! Canst thou not give 
me rest ? 

Come near ! and let me lay my head upon thy gentle 
breast.' 

" Thus spake the dying one. Her loving heart 
Was struggling in the icy tide of death. 
And yet she knew it not ! Her weariness 
Was strange to her. Oft in her mother's arms 
She had laid down and slept. Then why not now ? 
Why now no sleep with a mother's love ? 
She was a goodly child. Her every look 
Was meekness ; and her voice was soft and low 
As evening zephyrs are ; her graceful step 
So lightly pressed the earth, she seemed to walk 
As angels do — a messenger from Heaven ! 
She was a tender lily, floating on 
The tide of time — scarce lifting up her head. 
To bask it in the sunshine, or to bathe 
In falling dews. All silent and all meek 
She bore the eastward storms. that on her fell; 
Rejoicing when 'twas light ; smiled when 'twas dark ; 



168 ANGEL WHISPERS, 

Well knowing who gives lights and shades to earth. 
Oh ! 'tis no wonder that angelic hosts 
Hovered around that loved one's dying bed ; 
And sweetly poured within her listening ear 
A welcome song that none might hear but her: 

" * Come with us, little sister ! Thy weary way is done 
We have a home in Heaven for thee, thou weak and 

dying one ! 
Thy band of pain is falling oflF, and we for thee have set. 
Among the peerless thrones on high, a peerless coronet ; 
The dew, the birds, the light, the flowers, must fade 

around thee here. 
But we have deathless joys for thee in yonder starry 

sphere : 
It is all pure and holy — all glorious and fair — 
And angel-children hoyer nigh to bid thee welcome 

there. 
Come, dying little sister ! come to the Saviour's breast. 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary 

are at rest.' 

*' 'Twas silence. In the room no breath was heard ; 
But a soft smile played round the dead child's face. 
That spoke more eloquent than human words : 
^ Mourn not for me! I am not weary nowT " * 



X. 

THE LIKENESS OF CHRIST. 

I shall be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness. — David, 

Whenever you find a man contented with his lot| 
satisfied with his condition, you find one who ap- 
proaches very near the summit of earthly bliss. 
"A contented mind is a. continual feast/Ms not 
only the sentiment of Scripture but the natural 
dictate of human reason. Contentment will make 
the bleak mountains of the Nertk look lovely in 
their frozen grandeur. It will modify and mitigate 
the parching heat of the South, and transform the 
burning, sandy desert into a blooming garden. 
It will trace lines of gladness on the rude mud-built 
walls of the cottage home, and enable the laborer 
to feel rich, when he is miserably poor. It will 
warm without fire; satisfy without food; clothe 
without raiment. 

Contentment is one of the highest of the Chris- 
tian excellences, and by whom it is secured, a pre- 
cious prize is won. To woman, it is more beauti- 
ful than robes of silk, and vestures of satin : to 
man, it imparts more glory than the habiliments of 
royalty. To youtt, it imparts more honors than a 



170 ANGEI WHISPERS. 

crown of gold : on age, it confers more respect and 
veneration than does the hoary head. It makes 
sickness sweet, and arrays blushing health in the 
adornments of a meek and quiet spirit. But while 
contentment in all matters of earthly moment is 
inculcated, no man is forbidden to improve his con- 
dition, or to seek for purer and more excellent at- 
tainments. The wise man may strive to be more 
wise ; the pure man may seek for greater purity ; 
the holy man may aspire to a greater degree of 
holiness. The wants of the body may be all sup- 
pliied in this life, hence, it may be completely satis- 
fied with the things of this life. The soul has in- 
finite wants ; they can be supplied only in the fu- 
ture ; hence, the soul can be satisfied only with the 
future, and with things which are infinite and 
eternal. 

And this leads me to remark, 

1. The Christian can never be satisfied with the 
largest earthly fortune. Money is not the soul's 
highest good. In its place it is valuable. It can 
purchase a hundred objects to gratify our curiosity 
and satisfy our wants. It can build railroads and 
steamships ; lay the foundations and upbuild cities 
and empires ; erect costly residences, and endow 
schools and colleges. The man is wise who se- 
cures, by prudence and industry, his share of it, 
and uses it to the best advantage. God has never 



THE LIKENESS OF CHRIST. 171 

made poverty a qualification for heaven, or declared 
that a rich man should not enter the world above. 
He has indeed shown that an idolatry of money, 
like an idolatry of dead images, will ruin the soul. 
He has exposed the tendency of money to corrupt 
the heart, and lead the soul down from its high po- 
sition, and chain it to the dust, but He has never 
made money an insurmountable obstacle to eternal 
life. Many of the most pious men of past times, 
and of our age also, are men who have been favored 
by God with property, and these men will shine as 
bright, and no brighter, in the future life than poor 
men who have had an equal degree of personal 
piety. 

Thus while I would not dissuade men from the 
pursuit of wealth under proper circumstances, and 
to be used for proper objects, I would caution every 
man who is making money, or who is now in the 
possession of riches, to beware lest it corrupt his 
heart, poison his spirit, consume his piety, and cor- 
rode his hope of heaven. While I would not urge 
men to be less diligent in business, I would assure 
them that the Christian must not, and cannot be 
satisfied with the largest fortune ever piled togeth- 
er upon the shores of time. Money has less power 
to confer pleasure upon the real child of God, than 
it has to give content to the careless sinner. The 
good man will ever be comparing his riches with 



172 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

the pearl of great price, the fine residence in which 
he lives, with the house not made with hands, eter- 
nal in the heavens. And as he looks at one, the 
value of the other will diminish, and in proportion 
as his title to the heavenly world is sure, will his 
grasp upon wealth lessen. He will feel that this 
world can yield no permanent pleasure, and give 
no deed of security to his gold and silver. He will 
ever be preaching upward — aspiring to heaven, and 
if his property is taken away, he will turn with true 
devotion to a fortune laid up on high, which can 
never be destroyed. 

2. The Christian never can be satisfied with tha 
honors of this life. It is pleasant for a man to 
have these. To be loved, admired, and praised, is 
not usually considered a calamity. And I would 
urge every young man to secure as much popular- 
ity, as much of the respect and good will of his 
fellow-men as he can, by a correct, consistent, and 
manly course. I envy not the feelinga of the man 
who thinks himself rich enough to afibrd the loss 
of the respect of community, and the good opinion 
of society, and though I would not have the stand- 
ard of religion or morality lowered in the least to 
secure the honor of men, yet I see no harm in la- 
boring, by an honest life, to obtain the aSectionate 
regard of the wise and good. But when a Chris- 
tian secures this he is not satisfied. A worldly, 



THE LIKENESS OF CHRIST. 173 

ambitious man may be, to some extent, for his 
highest aim is to secure the honors which a capri- 
cious world bestows on its favorites. While the 
true Christian would wish to be loved and respected 
for the influence which that love and respect would 
give him, he feels in his own heart the emptiness 
of all the applause which is bestowed upon him. 
He knows that the greenest and freshest laurel 
which is ever placed upon any human brow, will 
wither and fade. He is sure that the very voices 
which are, to-day, loudest in his praise, will be 
hushed in death to-morrow, and new voices will be 
shouting the honors of a new favorite. If his heart 
is active with the holy pulsations of divine life, he 
will value more one word of approbation from God, 
one smile from Christ, one expression of interest 
from angejs, than all the thunders of applause 
which ever rises from the excited and intoxicated 
crowds of earth. "Well done, good and faithful 
servant,'^ will be sweeter music to his ear than all 
the shouts of approbation which can peal out from 
the lips of men. Hence, he will not be satisfied — 
he will not be proud, though all men love him, and 
all men praise him. The vanity of human glory 
will stand in his mind beside the approbation of 
God, and he will weigh them in the balances of 
an enlightened and sanctified reason. Like the 
wisest and most honored man of ancient times, he 



174 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

will look upon earth, and hear its shouts only to 
declare its vanity and worthlessness. 

8. The Christian will not be satisfied with 
friends. Nothing on earth, of an earthly charac- 
ter, is sweeter than friendship. It is better than 
gold, and more to be desired than honor. I know 
of no picture which more nearly resembles heaven, 
than a happy family, united in love and faith, and 
living for the same great purpose. He who un- 
dervalues the family relation, disregards one of 
the chief blessings which God has given, and closes 
his eyes to the beauty of a scene which angels ad- 
mire. But a multitude of friends will not fill the 
Christian's soul, or make him satisfied with earth. 
There is a place in his heart which domestic bliss 
does not occupy ; there is a want of his soul which 
the family relation, and the joys of friendship can- 
not meet ; and he feels that he never shall be su- 
premely blest until he and his friends have been 
redeemed from earth, and are permitted to sit 
down at the feet of the universal Father, and bask 
in the sunlight of His countenance. However 
much domestic bliss a child of God may have, 
and however dear his relations may be to those 
around him, he feels that he is away from home, a 
stranger in a strange land, and as the weary trav- 
eler turns his eyes to the land of his fathers, and 
the home w.iich contains the dearest objects of his 






THE LIKENESS OF CHRIST. 175 

love, so the Christian pilgrim will look upward to 
his eternal home, and feel satisfied only when that 
bright world is reached. Especially will this feel- 
ing be strong, if, one by one, his relatives have 
gone before him, and stand waiting for him at the 
gates of bliss. 

" Lo ! round the throne, at God's right hand, 
The saints, in countless myriads, stand. 
Of every tongue, redeemed by God, 
Arrayed in garments washed in blood. 

" Through tribulations great they came ; 
They bore the Cross, despised the shame; 
From all their labors now they rest. 
In God's eternal glory blest." 

4. The Christian will not be satisfied with the 
greatest attainments in knowledge. The pursuit 
of knowledge confers pleasure. Every investiga- 
tion which a man makes, every new truth which 
he receives, every new height to which he attains, 
brings enjoyment. The school-boy wdll feel his 
heart beat with pleasure, his eye will gleam with 
delight, when he has mastered a new rule in alge- 
bra, or worked out a difficult problem in geometry. 
Every new idea which he receives seems to elevate 
him in the scale of being, and brings him nearer to 
the measure of manhood. So to the man, there is 



176 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

a sweet, mysterious pleasure flowing from discov- 
ery, and when a new point is attained, and the 
scholar can look off to some more distant objects, 
his soul finds great delight. But no attainments 
in knowledge can make a man satisfied with this 
earthly state. The more his soul is enlarged, the 
more he desires an infinite field to explore, and the 
less content is he with the limits which are set to 
his mental vision. He desires to go out of him- 
self and fathom the deep, mysterious things of 
God, and, with the text-book of angels in his 
hand, fly away to worlds unknown, and become 
acquainted with them, as he is with this. An un- 
converted, irreligious man is restless and uneasy in 
this life, just to the extent of his knowledge. The 
more he knows, the more he sees of the worthless- 
ness of earth, and the more desperate does. the 
struggle of his mind become to break away from 
its confinement, and soar upward. The Christian 
will have this feeling to a much greater extent; 
and though he may know all that books, and re- 
search, and investigation, and deduction, can teach 
him, he wants something else, and his soul goes 
forth ever for some new thing. 

5. The Christian will not be satisfied with the 
highest attainments in piety ^ in this life. This 
arises from the simple fact that the highest state is 
not attained on earth. The purest men of earth 



THE LIKENESS OF CHRIST. 177 

have seen above them another eminence, and that 
they have desired to reach. David, in his old 
age, conquered the sins of his youth, and became 
an eminent Christian. His psalms are full of the 
most tender and delightful exhibitions of a Chris- 
tian spirit and temper ; but he was not satisfied 
with earth ; he aspired to heaven. Paul was an 
eminent Christian ; his piety was of the strongest 
and surest cast ; his life was a living exhibition 
of the influence of grace, but he was not satisfied ; 
his soul went out after other and better things, 
and heaven alone could fill him with glory. Har- 
lan Page was an eminent Christian ; his life gave 
delightful evidence of faith in Christ, and exten- 
sive intercourse and communion with God. As a 
layman, he accomplished more than most men of 
his generation. But he saw no time when he was 
satisfied — no time when he ceased to bewail the 
sins of his life, and call for more grace and faith. 
Dr. Payson was a Christian ; none doubt it. His 
name has gone all over the world as eminently and 
consistently devoted to Christ. He stood where 
few men ever have stood. He had a view of life 
and death, time and eternity, which few men ever 
have had. His intercourse with God was intimate 
and confiding. He lived at the foot of the Cross, 
and looked up daily to see his Father's face shin- 
ing out of the death of Jesus. But he was not 



178 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

satisfied. Daily he mourned his want of love, and 
many a tear did he shed over the sins of his life. 
With all his tender piety, which we so much ad- 
mire, he had not attained unto the measure of a 
perfect man in Christ Jesus, and he was not con- 
tent. 

Nor will any true Christian be. The nearer he 
gets to God, the nearer he will wish to go. The 
more like his Master he is, the more will he wish 
to imitate His example, and follow in His steps. 
The more of heaven he sees, the more will he love 
its blest abodes. The question then arises, when 
will the Christian be satisfied 1 The text answers 
it, and the firm, explicit declaration of David, is the 
declaration, as strongly expressed, and as fully re- 
alized, of every child of God. The Christian can- 
not be satisfied with wealth, though it may pour in 
upon him like a flood ; nor with honor, though it 
may come in offices and praises continually ; nor 
in friends, though sons may stand around his 
hearthstone like fir trees, and daughters may fill 
his house like precious stones ; nor with wisdom, 
though it may enable him to count the stars, mea- 
sure the earth, and gauge the depth of ocean ; nor 
with piety, though it may be like that of David, or 
Paul, or Page, or Payson. He must be, he can 
be satisfied with nothing short of a full, complete, 
and perfect likeness to Christ. The assurance 



THE LIKENESS OF CHRIST. 179 

that he should be like Christ, made the Psalmist 
desire to depart and be with him. It tended to 
purify his soul from flesh and sin, and rgfine his 
nature from the dross of earth. The doctrine will 
have the same effect upon the Christian in all the 
various stages of his Christian experience. It will 
render him uneasy in this life, and make him thirst 
for another life, where the fountains ever play, and 
the lights ever shine, and the songs ever sound. 
Then will the Christain be satisfied, when he reach- 
es heaven. Awaking in the likeness of Christ, and 
having the same physical, mental, and moral image^ 
he will find that all wealth, all honor, all friends, 
all wisdom, all piety are his. There is no height 
beyond to which, he can climb, and though his 
course may be progressive, it will be rather a pro- 
gression of heaven itself, along with which he will be 
borne from infinity to infinity, from eternity to eter- 
nity, always as happy, always as vv^ise, always as 
holy as his nature can be. This is the portion of 
God's people ; for this they wait ; to this they as- 
pire ; and this they will surely reach. 

My brethren, if we should be satisfied only with 
the likeness of Christ, how humiliating it is that so 
many are striving to content themselves with barely 
as much goodness as can keep them from making 
total shipwreck of salvation. The nature of re- 
ligion is to reach forward; the spirit of Christ is 



180 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

progressive ; and yet some disciples of Jesus seem 
to desire only . as much piety as will give them a 
right to^stay in the church, and number themselves 
with the people of God. The great aim of th 
Christian life is a likeness to Christ, and yet bu 
few are seeking it here. The general opinion 
seems to be that some mysterious power in death 
will transform a cold, dead, lifeless branch of the 
church, into a living member of Christ. Men re- 
gard it as a sacred alchemy, which changes the 
worthless stone into gold, and makes that which 
was of no value, of great price. But I understand 
no such thing ; death has no such power. It may 
change, renew, transform, but it will not make a 
living Christian out of a dead professor ; it will not 
change a piece of worthless plaster into a diamond. 
The thousands who bear no resemblance to Christ 
here, and who are hiding in the church, may well 
fear that they will have no likeness to Christ here- 
after. The pledge of future bliss is present holi- 
ness ; the assurance that we shall awake in the 
likeness of Christ, is a desire to imitate and be liko 
Him now. 

I am aware that we cannot be like Christdn all 
respects in this life, but morally we can be farwnore 
like Him than we are. I fail to find in us who pro- 
fess the name of Christ that resemblance to Hixc 
which religion demands. His simplicity, meekness, 



THE LIKENESS OF CHRIST. 181 

prayerfulnesSj faith, love to man and God, are want- 
ing in the characters of too many Christians. He 
was lovely, they are unlovely ; He was holy, they 
are unholy ; He was meek, the}^ are proud ; He 
was forgiving, they are revengeful ; He was harm- 
less, they are malicious. Scarcely any point of 
resemblance can be seen between them. And we 
naturally ask, if such who are so little like Christ 
now, will be entirely like him in the world to come ? 
if they who. possess so little of His spirit here, will 
be animated by His, spirit hereafter? Reason and 
Scripture alike declare the thing an absurdity, and 
assure us that if the image of Christ is worn in 
heaven above, it must be stamped upon the life 
below. 

** Mistaken souls that dream of heaven. 
And make their empty boast, 
Of inward joys, and sins forgiven. 
While they are slaves to lust/' 

And what a beautiful life our's would be, if the 
image of Jesus was impressed upon it. It might 
have tears, and groans, and sighs, and anguish, but 
angels and* holy men would contemplate it with 
pleasure and delight. And shall this life be ours ? 
shall the image of Jesus be on our conduct? shall 
the spirit of Jesus pervade our speech, and strength- 
en us for duty ? Then heaven will begin on <^arth : 
12 



182 , ANGEL WHISPERS. 

the Church will become a Paradise ! angels will 
sing around and hover over us : glad notes shall 
we raise to God and the Lamb forever 

"0, may the heavenly vision fire 
Our hearts with ardent love, 
Till wings of faith, and strong desire. 
Bear every thought above." 



XL 

THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 

K-edeeming the time because the days are evil. — Paul. 

Human life is represented in the Scriptures un- 
der various beautiful figures, expressing at once its 
shortness and its importance. At one time it is 
compared to a leaf which springs from the expand- 
ing twig, changing its hue from summer beauty to 
autumnal shade, and falling to the ground, lies in 
its withered worthlessness, to teach man who treads 
upon it the lesson of his own destiny. At another 
time it is compared to a cloud which appears in the 
morning, attracts the gaze of the traveler awhile, 
and vanishes away in a moment as the sun rises 
above the hill tops of the east. Again, the flying 
shuttle, the shooting star, the ray of light, become 
figures to express the brief and uncertain character 
of our earthly existence. Mortals are urged to seize 
time as it flies, to use it while it continues, to improve 
it while it lasts. A lost fortune, a lost character, 
a lost friend, may be regained, but an inch of time 
once lost never can be recovered. On every moment 
of time is written " eternity,''and as it rushes on to 
merge itself into the ocean of the past, no royal 



184 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

edict can bring it back, no mighty hand roll it up 
again upon the shores of the present*. 

A few motives for the redemption of time will 
constitute our present article. And, 

1. Time is short. The whole measure of earth- 
ly history will be short, from the creation to the 
destruction. Generation after generation is passing 
away like the morning shadows. The word of God, 
compared with the history of passing events, fully 
indicates that Earth's great drama is hastening to a 
crisis. Time has grown old ; six thousand years 
encircle its weary brow, and with inconceivable ve- 
bcity it is rushing on to its eternal sepulcher. And 
fsoon the end will come, the purposes for which time 
(vas given be accomplished, and its ages, years, and 
liours all be narrowed down to the moment of its 
olose. The great events connected with the wind- 
ing up of all earthly alBFairs, the rendering of the 
last account, cannot be far distant. The earth 
wrapped in flame, th-e heavens bleached and pale 
with terror fleeing away, the opening of the Book 
of Remembrance, in which all our good and evil 
deeds are recorded, are but a step before us.. 

And if time is so short when all its ages are 
combined, when so many generations unite in swell- 
ing its history, when it can boast of the misspent 
past, the neglected present, and the unknown future, 
what fearful brevity pertains to that little portion 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 185 

of it allotted to us as individuals ! If time from 
the beginning to the close, from Alpha to Omega is 
'^hort^ what word in the wide range of language can 
we use to express the transitory nature of our mor- 
tal career. No word or figure can express what we 
mean by the brevity of life. The Aveaver's shuttle, 
the flying cloud, the rushing torrent, the tramping 
horse, the lightning flash, the thought of man, are 
all too tardy in their movements to mark the flight 
of time. The fading cloud, the falling leaf, the 
disappearing comet, transitory as they are, are far 
too enduring to illustrate the time we are to live. 

" Time is winging us away 
To our eternal home ; 
Life is but a winter's day, 
A journey to the tomb. 
Youth and beauty soon will flee, 

Blooming beauty lose its charms ; 
All that's mortal soon shall be 
Inclosed in death's cold arms.'' 

What a motive this to snatch from the hand of 
waste the little portion of our lives that remains ! 
What an argument this to improve the few remaining 
months of life to the best advantage ! to give to 
God and a beseeching world the existence which is 
so soon to end in death ! On every side we are sur- 
rounded with teachers and monitors. The count- 



186 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

less living and the innumerable dead warn us. The 
animate and the inanimate admonish us. Each has 
a thunder's tongue and a trumpet voice. They all 
say '' Time is short.'' It now becomes no matter 
of surprise that Paul should so earnestly exhort his 
fellow sinners to redeem whatever might remain of 
a wasted, misspent life, and give it to a holy work ; 
rescue it from complete loss, and apply it to the 
purpose for which it was intended. 

2. Time is valuable. The smallest objects and 
the briefest space are not always destitute of value. 
On the contrary, the value of many things consists 
in their rareness, and the brevity of their duration. 
Time, though short and fleeting, has an inestima- 
ble value. In it, the highest and noblest objects 
may be accomplished, and many grand and lofty 
purposes executed. The page of history reveals 
to us how many heroic acts, how many virtuous 
deeds, how many lofty purposes, have been crowded 
into its narrow bounds. With its truthful voice 
it tells us how much of good, men have d ")ne ; how 
many streams of woe they have dried up; how 
many fires of sin they have quenched. We also 
learn how much evil, men have done; how they 
have made earth one vast Golgotha, plowed deep 
channels for the tears of mourners, quenched the 
light of mind and intellect, and on the tide of time 
scattered all along the wrecks of ruined characters, 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 187 

Thougli time is very short, and is hurrying rapidly i 
away, it is pregnant with great events. Well im- 
proved, a man may astonish even himself in the 
good deeds which he may perform, and, departing 
from earth, leave an influence which shall be felt 
for years and ages. The only reason why time 
appears of so little consequence, is* because we 
abuse and squander so much of it — waste so many 
of its precious hours and days in indolent inactiv- 
ity. We measure a man's life by what he does in 
it ; by what he can accomplish in the few fleeting 
years of his brief existence. The lives of too many 
men are like an empty cylinder, filled up with cob- 
webs and dust, humming and turning, but emit- 
ting no harmony. Judge time by those lives, and 
it is worthless ; they have not improved it to any 
good advantage ; it is wasted in pursuits and tri- 
fles light as air. The life of other men is like a 
nest of vipers ; look into them, and they are snarled 
and tangled ; confusion and blackness reigns, rea- 
son is fighting with lust, conscience and conduct 
are at variance, crime prevails and reaches out its 
sneaking head from every day and hour, and hide- 
ous forms flit around it, all marking that life as 
not only worthless, but terribly destructive. Better 
not be born under such circumstances; life has 
no worth, and time no value, thus to be abused. It 
is not empty, but full of dark and dreadful deeds j 



188 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

it gives no ringing sound, but a hiss of malice 
and a groan of despair. 

The life of other men is different, and shows 
fully the value of time. Each day is some delicate 
instrument achieving some sublime purpose. No 
moments are like airy spirits, unseen and formless, 
flitting away to tell how little they w^ere cared for, 
but angels laden with good, to carry the cup of 
healing to the broken form of disease and want. 

To show the value of time, w^e must go to some 
of earth's good men, who have used it for a wise 
and rational purpose, and who have filled it up 
with deeds which will shine hereafter in their 
crowns of glory. We may find them in every pro- 
fession, in every walk in life, in every condition 
in society, in every age and clime w^here God is 
known, and where His laws form the basis of soci- 
ety. Who can estimate the value of the life of 
Luther 1 "Who can tell the influence exerted by 
Calvin in the little time allotted to him? Who 
can measure the years of Edwards, and Griffin, 
and their' associates in labor? Who can tell the 
worth of time to Judson, and through him, to a per- 
ishing world ? Deeper than plummet ever sounded 
is the current of their deeds, and higher than 
thought ever reached is their praise. They made 
life a scene of usefulness and toil, and demon 
strated its inestimable worth and importance. 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 189 

8. Time has already been misspent. This is 
tiue of a large majority of the members of the 
human family. In early life much time is wasted 
before definite ideas and plans of usefulness are 
formed, and the mind arrives at fixed and settled 
principles of action. The first twenty or thirty 
years are employed in preparing to do something 
afterward. The young man does not dream that 
he can begin active life the moment he emerges 
from boyhood, but his eye is fixed upon a period 
far distant, which he will reach after years of 
study and preparation. The feeling of responsi- 
bility does not commence and exert its influence 
until after years have rolled away, and been num- 
bered with the lost years. Their time is lost in 
discussing plans of usefulness. This object and 
that, comes up, evils increase, errors grow strong, 
while we are arranging our mode of attack and 
turning over in our minds the best way of defeat- 
ing them. And when the great plan of life is 
formed, irresolution and inactivity often defeat its 
purpose. The advocate of truth turns aside to 
amuse himself with pictures, and flowers, and 
sweet sounds. Let any man sit down and ask 
himself what he has done in the world, and he will 
be amazed that he has accomplished so little, while 
working so hard. He has supported his family, 
read a few books, enjoyed a few pleasures, accom- 



190 ANGFL WHISPERS. 

plished a little good most of it doubtful, and now 
stands near the borders of the grave. Let him 
compare his life with some one who has devoted 
himself to the good of the human family, and he 
will find that there is a vast difference between his 
own life and that of another man who had no more 
means of usefulness, no more ability to do good, no 
more advantages in life, than he had himself, when 
they commenced together the course which they 
have run, but with very different success. 

The idea that so much time has already been 
misused, should lead every man to improve the por- 
tion that remains to him. Many will find that al- 
most the whole of life has been spent in an abuse 
of God's kindness, and in a sinful rejection of His 
dear Son; not merely in a state of passive indif- 
ference, but in open aggressive warfare upon the 
government of the universe. They will find that 
they have been treasuring up wrath against the day 
of wrath, and while enjoying the benevolence of 
God, have been lifting up their hands against Him, 
and slighting the love of the Saviour who died in 
their stead. The motive derived from misspent 
time for future activity, is strong and convincing. 
The army which has slept too long and been be- 
trayed, feels it : the laborer who has rested in the 
heat of the day, and sees the sun going down, acts 
apon it : the man in a dangerous stream, who has 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 191 

been too long pleasing himself with the flowers upon 
the bank, and rouses to find himself in the rapids, 
owns its force ; and he who on the tide of time has 
been floating down to the gulfs of woe, lured, 
charmed, and cheated by Satan, but awakes at 
length to see where he is, and feel his danger, 
promptly begins to redeem the time, and seize the 
passing moment to do the work, which thus far, 
though most important, has been most neglected. 

4. The present days are evil. — This is a reason 
urged by the apostle why time should be redeemed ; 
and though eighteen hundred years have rolled away 
since he lived, the fact is as clear now as then. It 
is predicted that as the world approaches its con- 
summation, evil will increase, and sin grow bolder 
and more insulting. This prediction painfully cor- 
responds with observation and experience. The 
greater increase of light, the more desperate be- 
comes the powers of darkness. Intrenched as Sa- 
tan is in the strongholds of society, exerting such 
an influence as he does over the human heart, it is 
not to be supposed that he would lay down his 
scepter without a fearful struggle. Hence, in his 
contest with Christ, which is now going on more 
fearfully than at any former time, he has summoned 
the powers of hell, the depravity of earth, his own 
almost resistless energies, his infernal malignity, 
and these are all abroad among men, endeavoring 



192 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

to overturn the kingdom and power of Christ. God 
against Satan, and Satan against God, is the order 
of battle. While on one hand light never shone 
with such brilliancy, and truth never gained such 
conquests before ; on the other hand, vice and er- 
ror never appeared in such seductive attitudes, and 
secured such dominion over the hearts of men as 
now. The contest between truth and error, free- 
dom and slavery, light and darkness, rages every 
year with increasing violence, and every power of 
man, and every moment of expiring time is needed 
on the side of God. As one little community may 
be divided on some narrow, trivial, and compara- 
tively unimportant question in political economy, 
so the great world is engaged and divided. Em- 
perors never stood in their palaces and looked 
down wdth more interest upon fields where armies 
were rushing together, deciding the fate of vast 
empires, than do the inhabitants of heaven upon 
the struggle between the seed of the woman and 
the seed of the serpent. It was this great contest 
which Paul saw going on in the world, which in- 
duced him to raise the rallying cry, and call upon 
the friends and followers of Jesus to redeem the 
time which had already run to waste, and improve 
the rest for God and His holy cause. 

5. Time should be redeemed, because a great 
work is to he done in it. This work is two-fold — 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 193 

in man, and in society. The work in man consists 
in his personal salvation. For this he lives, and 
for this God keeps him in being. The first and 
greatest duty of this life is to prepare for one 
which succeeds it, and until this is done, every other 
effort is out of place. The man who begins to re- 
form society before his own heart is reformed from 
the corruptions of sin, and his title to heaven made 
sure, is guilty of an unpardonable inconsistency. 
Holy men, who spake as they were moved by the 
Holy Ghost, urge us all to seek firsts and in pre- 
ference to all things, the kingdom of God and His 
righteousness. The whole of life is not too long 
for such an enterprise, and the Bible constantly 
demands that every one should make his own peace 
with God. Between the Creator and the creature 
there is enmity and opposition. The carnal mind 
is at enmity against God on one side, and God is 
angry with the wicked every day, on the other side. 
The great work of this life is to effect a reconcilia- 
tion. Unless this is secured the soul of man is 
lost, and life thrown away. Now some have lived 
a quarter of a century, and some a half a century, 
and have not made the first attempt to reconcile 
themselves with God, or insure their own salva- 
tion. They have secured fortunes, and honors, 
and friends, but, they have not obtained the pearl 
of great price. They are but a step from death^ 



194 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

and yet all the work remains to be done. After 
death no change can be effected. A man's char- 
acter will not be open to change when once the 
spirit has removed from time and entered upon its 
returnless voyage. Here, and here alone, can sal- 
vation be secured, and yet the hours pass, the 
days fly away, the months and years roll on, and 
man's great work unfinished, aye, never com- 
menced, remains the sport of the depraved heart. 

If a work upon which a man's life depended 
should be given him to do, and the time should be 
limited to one month, he would be insane should he 
leave it to be performed on the thirtieth day. But 
here stands man before God, with the salvation of 
his soul to be secured, his everlasting happiness or 
misery suspended on it, the time limited to life, 
and that life may be one year or fifty, and yet the 
first step in the great work has not been taken. 
There can be no case supposed, no illustration 
framed, which can exhibit the folly of the man 
who thus neglects his salvation. Human language 
is too weak to describe the madness of a man with 
a soul to save, heaven to gain, God to be recon- 
ciled, who leaves it until the last day or year he 
has to live. 

The work which man has to do, out of himself, 
in society, I have already alluded to. He owes 
eomething to his fellow-men. There exists be- 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 195 

tween him and man universal, a bond of brother- 
hood. He is under obligation to the rich and poor 
»f his own city, to the afflicted and criminal im- 
aaediately around him, to all in distress and woe, 
to the distant pagans and the benighted barbarians. 
Like Paul, he is a debtor to Jew and Greek. 
Time, this little, narrow isthmus on which he 
stands, and which, like the finger of time, reaches 
out into the eternal ocean, is all that remains, and 
confined to it, must be all his efforts to do good to 
a lost and guilty race. 

We are admonished every day of the brevity of 
life, and the importance of having our work well 
done. We can pause, and remember the names 
of fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, wives 
and husbands, who were with us yesterday, but 
who to-day are covered up in the cold ground. 
Removed from life, love, and labor here, they 
await the trumpet of the archangel, which will soon 
call upon them to give an account of their time, 
and answer for all their deeds. In a few days — 
and how swiftly will they fly — shall we be cut 
down, our bodies die, and our frames be laid away 
out of the sight of those who love us, and all the 
joys of earth, to slumber with our departed kin- 
dred. Our time is short, and to very many of us, 
the day is not far distant when we shall receive 
the summons. 



196 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

Let us ask ourselves if the work of life is done. 
Have we all secured our own personal salvation 1 
and are we ready, at any moment, to meet God? 
Let us remember that, swifter than a weaver's 
shuttle, we are passing away, and to-day may be 
the last opportunity we shall have to make our 
peace with God, or benefit our fellow-men. It is 
not a small thing to squander on unworthy pur- 
suits the precious time which God has given for 
a noble purpose, and well for us if when time is 
ended, we find that it has been used profitably. 
This idea I would impress upon the aged hearer. 
Time is short; your wasted sands are almost run; 
the glass runs low ; the sun is almost down. The 
middle-aged may understand it, for their time is 
short ; to-morrow, perhaps to-night, the lamp now 
burning so brightly, may be extinguished, aye, ex- 
tinguished ere life's great duty is done, or life's 
great purpose achieved. The time of the young is 
short; many a flower fades ere it is fully blown; 
many a sun is obscured by clouds ere it has reached 
the meridian; many a cloud is dissolved ere it 
has rolled across the sky ; many a life is ended 
ere manhood is attained. Yes, the time is short 
for hoary age, or middle life, or youth. Each 
minute makes it less, and every hour brings the 
pilgrim nearer to his eternal home. 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 197 

" There is no measure but of change ; 
No present hour is found ; 
The past, the future, fill the range 
Of time's unceasing round/' 

Like a solitary soul, I seem perched on a little 
point of time. All behind me is past, gone, irre- 
claimable, lost : all before me is blank — not mine — 
unfilled and uncertain. When shall I stumble? 
when shall I fall? and over me sweep a wailing 
sound, " Time is short V'^ 

The young disciple whose death has given rise 
to these reflections, was born in Boston, August 
9th, 1829, and died on the morning of November 
17th, 1846. Having improved her death as a suit- 
able occasion to draw lessons from the brevity and 
value of time, it becomes me to speak of her whose 
early death has furnished the opportunity, and 
given the open ear, and the applying conscience 
And I do it with more readiness and pleasure be- 
cause I know that she whom we mourn, presented 
an example worthy of our imitation. I know that 
she redeemed the time, and was prepared to make 
a joyful entrance into the future state. She had 
secured the good part which never will be taken- 
from her ; she understood life's great object, and 
remembered life's great end ; and while her com- 
panions might have ridiculed — while those older in 
life might have despised her youth, she gave a les- 
13 



198 ANGEL WHISPFRe:. 

son of Christian virtue which angels admired, and 
men should have learned with joy. I know not 
that the early years of our young friend were char- 
acterized by any thing more than by an unusual 
thoughtfulness. I am told by those who knew her 
best, and valued her most, that when in her ex- 
treme youth, she exhibited much of that prudent 
forethought that seldom belongs to childhood, and 
the testimony of her parents is, that in all things 
she .maintained the strictest conformity to their 
wishes. To the mother, she united the relation of 
companion and counselor with that of the child ; 
and in her care of the yo\inger members of the 
family she seemed to blend the fondness of a sis- 
ter with the judgment of a parent. At home, in 
the crowded city, and away at school, this thought- 
fulness manifested itself in her choice of asso- 
ciates. She was ever careful to select from the vir- 
tuous and the good, not recognizing the unjust dis- 
tinction which wealth and dress are sometimes dis- 
posed to make. She seemed to appreciate virtue, 
among the rich or the poor, and chose for her com- 
panions those whose moral characters most resem- 
bled her own. In the revival of 1842, she became 
a subject of renewing grace — began earnestly to 
redeem the time, and prepare for that world to 
which she soon removed. On the first of May, she 
followed the example of her Saviour — was buried 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 19S 

with Him by baptism, and the same day received 
the public token of Christian fellowship. The 
sight was one which angels must have reviewed 
with pleasure. The young disciple, with several 
more of nearly her own age, thus early in life sig- 
nifying her faith in a risen Saviour, must have sent 
a thrill of joy through all the courts of heaven. 

Her after life corresponded with a profession 
thus early and publicly made, and as far as was in 
her power, she adorned the doctrine of God her Savi- 
our by a well-ordered life and a godly conversation. 
Her mental powers were of a superior character. 
Almost invariably, as I am told, she stood at the 
hea'd of her class in school, and earned the reputa- 
tion of a diligent scholar and a kind classmate. 
Some time previous to her death she had been con- 
nected as a pupil with the female seminary at Brad- 
ford, and was cherishing the hope that she might 
pass through the prescribed course of study, and 
graduate at the usual time. With this prospect be- 
fore her mind, she left her friends early in the spring 
of the present year, and had scarcely arrived at Brad- 
ford ere the disease which terminated her life made 
its appearance. She returned home. Then fol- 
lowed seasons of hope and despondency. Physi- 
cians tried their skill. All that a father's kindness 
and a mother's love could do was done. Council 
after council was held, and when the decision came, 



200 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

its announcement blasted the last lingering hope. 
They told her she must die, and looked to see her 
cheek fade and her lip tremble. But she was pre- 
pared ; and though she had cherished hopes of life, 
the idea of death did not intimidate her. I visited 
her in her sickness, and found her calm and resigned. 
She wished to live for the sake of her friends, for 
her own she wished to die. I have seen Christians 
die in greater joy and ecstasy, but I never saw one 
in which the true spirit of calm and holy resigna- 
tion was more remarkably developed. That holy 
sentence, " Thy will be done,'' seemed to be the voice 
of her dying hour. On the night before her death, 
as I sat by her bedside, she said to me, " How sweet 
heaven appears : those I love are there : I long to 
go, when Jesus shall bid me come, and I pray that 
He may call me home to-night.'' That night she 
died. Afflicted parents, your loss is great. You 
will find a vacancy at home which God alone can fill. 
You have fondly wished to educate your child for use- 
fulness, but God, for some wise and benevolent pur- 
pose, has taken her away. She is happy now, Jesus 
is her teacher, and she stands, with the angel throng 
before his throne. From her bright abode she is look- 
ing down on you ; she still remembers you with fond- 
ness ; " She loved you on earth, she will love you in 
heaven." Afflicted brothers of the deceased, your 
loss is also great. To you her last kind word has 



THE REDEMPTION OF TIME. 201 

been spoken, the last token of a sister's affection 
has been given j^ou, the last prayer she has offered 
in your behalf, and now she pleads your cause before 
the throne of God. She utters "your name, and 
blends it with the name of Jesus, and then, like an 
angel of mercy, she speeds her way down from the 
skies to shield you from Earth's temptations. Will 
you let your sainted sister plead for you in vain? 
Her home is heaven, shall it not be your home? 
She has redeemed her time, shall not yours also be 
improved ? Associates of the deceased, you are 
warned. Our departed sister, when she found her 
life ebbing away, thought of your condition, and de- 
sired your salvation. Some of you she warned, and 
for others she left her dying blessing. You that 
saw her, know how well prepared she was to go ; you 
know how little she cared for earth ; you know how 
she loved and thought of heaven. Like her, you 
soon will fade away. Your present health is no ev- 
idence of a long-continued life, and I ask, as from 
her grave, are you as well prepared to go ? 

To this whole congregation another call is given. 
The angel of destruction is sweeping through our 
already broken ranks ; almost every Sabbath death 
leaves some seat in the sanctuary of God vacant, 
and youth and age alike are falling. The green 
grass over the grave murmurs, " the time is short.'' 
The hearse moving along in its solitary majesty 



202 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

whispers, " the time is short." The bell sounding 
out its mournful tone declares that '' time is short.'' 
God, in His word, by His providences, and by His 
minister, proclaims that ^^ time is short," and soon 
from the death-pillow )f each of us will be heard 
the silent yoice of the departing spirit, " Time is 
short." 



xn 

THE SIX DEATH-BEDS. 

All go yittto one place ; alJ are of the dust, and all turn to dust agalZL 

SOLOUOIC 

Men live m different styles, and are honored ac- 
cording to different standards. One bows his head 
in poverty ; the earth, wide as it is, affords him no 
shelter ; the song of praise is never sung for him, 
and he lives unhonored and dies unwept. Another 
rides in a carriage, lives in a palace, subsists on 
the choicest dainties, exists amid music, and dies 
amid lamentations. The first is buried by the hand 
of charity in a grave which no stone marks, and 
over which no pitying mourners stand ; the second 
has a marble sarcophagus, a splendid tomb, where 
strangers stand to wonder at the fame of him who 
lies buried within. In life, these two men walked 
at the wide extremes of society ; in death, they 
meet together, each occupying the same narrow 
space, each crumbling back to the same dust, and 
each, in a little while, like the other, unhonored 
and unloved. 

The rich man and the poor man, the learned man 
and the ignorant man, alike turn to dust again ; 



204 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

while posterity forget that they have ever lived on 
earth. 

To illustrate this truth, let us turn in succession 
to several different death-bed scenes Avhich, unlike 
in life, are changed into the same image by death. 

1. The rich man dies. In a splendid room he 
lies, breathing out his life. All around are the 
signs of luxury and wealth. The couch on which 
he lies is of the softest down ; the lamps which 
burn around him send out a grateful incense ; the 
physician who watches at his side is a man pro- 
foundly learned, and wonderfully skilled in the 
healing -art ; the attendants are experienced, judi- 
cious, and careful ; and not a single experiment is 
left untried to prolong the passing life, and give the 
dying man an hour more of time. But slowly and 
steadily death comes on. The dying man, whose 
slightest voice has always been obeyed with prompt- 
ness, bids back his terrible visitor, and demands 
time to settle up his vast estate, and prepare for 
the long journey. He asks that he may live until . 
the schemes which he has formed, and the plans 
which he has in progress, shall all be carried out. 
The present is the most inconvenient time for him 
to die, and he pleads that life may be prolonged a 
year, a month, a week, a day. But how vain the 
plea ! Who ever knew Death to retire one single 
instant, or relax his grasp, when once he had de- 



THE SIX DEATH-BEDS. 205 

termined on victory ? And so the rich man dies — 
his schemes of gain and pleasure unfinished ; his 
purposes of worldly ambition unaccomplished ; his 
plans formed in health but half fulfilled — buildings 
in the process of erection — goods purchased, but not 
received — notes due, but not paid — and life's ob- 
jects all unfinished. 

He has a splendid funeral. A long train of car- 
riages follow him to some beautiful cemetery, and 
he is laid down in a lot which his wealth purchased 
for himself and his kindred ; and there he lies in 
that little narrow house, the food for worms, the 
heir of decay, until the morning of the resurrection. 
His wealth, his influence, his merits, his grand 
estate, his honors, and his offices, have all been 
ineffectual in staying the ravages of death, and he 
expired just as the poor man did, who died w^ithout 
his gate, and was borne away to some rude tomb, 
over which the flowers were ashamed to bloom and 
the birds to sing. 

What a living lesson of wisdom must the old 
Abbey of Westminster, where sleep the honored 
nobility of the proudest nation on earth, be to all 
the rich and powerful who visit it. Those urns and 
slabs, tall monuments and eifigies, dim inscriptions 
in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, tell how, like other 
men, kings went down from thrones and regal hon- 
ors, to lay their heads as low as the most abject of 



206 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

their subjects ; how queens, who reveled in stately 
halls, and presided at banquets, and drew the ad- 
miration of the people, have passed away, and now, 
like common dust, are crumbling back to their 
original elements ; how nobility doth like beggary 
perish ; and majesty doth fade and die like poverty. 
2. The learned man dies. Science and learn- 
ing have made great advancement. The mind of 
man has been wonderfully developed, and now ex- 
erts a controlling influence over the empire of mat- 
ter. The heavens above, the earth beneath, and 
the waters under the earth, have been made sub- 
jects of investigation, until their relations, affinities, 
properties have been discovered, and to a great 
extent applied to some practical purpose. But the 
philosopher, the chemist, the man of science and 
erudition, has not yet discovered any way in which 
death may be avoided, or decay prevented. Ask 
the learned man, and he will tell you of the heaven- 
ly bodies, how they act upon each other, and what 
fixed and certain laws they obey. He will descend 
with you into the bowels of the earth, and explain 
the various developments of nature there, and enter 
without hesitation into the various buried stratas, 
and draw instruction from them all. But if you 
ask him what remedy he has found for death, he 
will shake his head and give no reply. He has no 
antidote for dissolution and decay, and when they 



THE SIX DEATH-BEDS. 20"^ 

come to the poor perishing frame of man, he looks 
on without any power to stay the work, or roll back 
the progress of destruction. 

Go to the death-bed of the learned man, and you 
will find him surrounded with all the attendants of 
wisdom. The ponderous volume, the crucible, the 
philosophical apparatus, and the living philosophers; 
but from none of these can he derive any informa- 
tion which will enable him to live one single hour. 
The medical attendant can do no more for him, 
than he did yesterday for a poor ignorant slave 
who died in a rude hovel on the same street ; and 
the wise man dies just as soon, just as sadly, just 
as irretrievably, as the poorest and most abject 
pauper. 

They bear him to an honored grave, and schools 
and colleges bewail his loss ; but he lies in a narrow 
coffin, and occupies less room on the earth than he did 
in his little dim, smoky study. Like the rich man 
that we saw buried, he has a little tenement, and 
needs no more. The wisest of his friends em- 
ploy themselves in devising an inscription to deco- 
rate his tomb, and as they sweep their eyes around 
the pale corpses in the field, where rich and poor, 
learned and ignorant, lie together, they write : 
" All go into one place, all are of the dust, and all 
turn to dust again.'' 

3. The proud man dies. Pride depelops itself 



208 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

in this life in different ways, and all are more or 
less affected with it. The king on his throne ; the 
statesman in the senate of nations ; the ministei 
in his pulpit, are all proud to a greater or less ex- 
tent. In some men it shows itself in dress, and in 
some by a want of dress. Some yield to it at one 
point, and some at another. But what a contrast 
is furnished by the pride of life, and the humility 
of death ! For a few poor years, the pampered 
body is made the object of attention, covered with 
jewels, and displayed to the best advantage. Draw- 
ing license from some honor or oflSce which has 
been conferred upon him, the dying mortal lifts his 
head above his fellows, and 

" Dress'd in a little brief authority. 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
As make the angels weep." 

But like the humble man, the proud man is laid 
upon his dying pillow. He has been accustomed 
to consider himself better, and superior to those 
around him ; but death deals with him as severely 
and as terribly as with the meanest of the sons of 
earth. It comes to him, interrupts his joys, and 
closes his vain lips, and leaves him a stiff, inani- 
mate, useless corpse. And sometimes pride ex- 
tends beyond the hour of death. The fashionable 
funerals, the pompous parade of the grave, the 



THE SIX DEATH-BEDS. 209 

show and confusion of funeral occasions, is often 
hollow, miserable mockery, and money is lavished 
to carry out a foolish pride, in which the dead can 
share no part. What, think we, do those who have 
descended to the dust care about the number of 
carriages, and the monument, and the amount of 
cost, and show, and glitter, which is made when 
one poor mortal goes out into the unknown. I read 
awhile since an account of a funeral which occurred 
in one of our large cities, by which the angels in 
heaven must have been shocked. 

" The wife of a man of means, and the daughter 
of a wealthy citizen of this city — people too fond of 
show — recently died. She had been called beauti- 
ful before a family of children had gathered around 
her, and she had not renounced her claim to that 
title. She died, and a large concourse was invited 
to the funeral. The coffin was made of rosewood, 
inlaid with silver, lined with plaited satin. The 
whole top was removed, and the deceased lay in 
state in her narrow home. She was dressed in a 
white merino robe, made like a morning gown, faced 
with white satin profusely quilted and ornamented. 
The sleeves were open, similarly lined and wrought 
— a stomacher of the richest embroidery covered 
the breast, whence all life had forever fled. The 
head was covered by a cap of choice lace, and a 
wreath of fresh flowers arranged around. The hands 



210 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

were crossed upon the breast, with i\iQ fingers cov- 
ered with expensive jewelry^ which seemed to 
spal-kle, as if in glad pride that the eye was dim 
forever. Thus bedizened, poor food for worms, she 
went down into the grave, there to await her God !'' 

And, after all this pomp, this buried object of 
pride and fashion had no larger home, and no other 
fate, than the most degraded female who ever went 
from life. The worms know nothing about the con- 
dition of those who are given to their care, and they 
have dominion alike on all. An appropriate in- 
scription to make upon the grave-stone of the proud 
is, " They all go to one place ; dust they are, and 
unto dust do they return.'^ Like the poor, and 
abject, and forlorn, that wait the sound of the same 
trumpet, Avliich will call the proud and the humble, 
alike, to one great trial. 

4. The self-righteous man dies. Of all sorts 
and forms of pride, none is so loathsome and hateful 
as that which renders a man complacent in his 
supposed acts of goodness. Self-righteousness is a 
blemish in human character which, though common, 
cannot be viewed with too much alhorrence. 
That one should feel a decent self-respect, and be 
ready so to live as to receive the good opinion of 
others, none deny; but assumed goodness, which 
covers a black and corrupted heart, an hypocrisy 
which makes long prayers and does alms only to be 



THE SIX db;atH'BEDs. !J11 

seen of men, is never too much detested. We are 
all sinners ; if we are destitute of sin in one form, 
we are guilty of it in another ; and if we are all 
tried by a true and perfect standard, we shall be 
found wanting. Hence, to assume a goodness which 
we do not possess, to cover up a corrupt life with a 
fair profession, and to demand privileges on virtues 
not our own, is the veriest hypocrisy. But such 
men are found, vfho live, move, and have their be- 
ing in self-conceit; who exist in an atmosphere of 
deception which they have made ; who deem them- 
selves better than others who live more correct lives, 
and have more constant communion with God. 
Much of this self-righteousness arises from a false 
estimate of ourselves, and from an abandonment of 
the great doctrine of justification by faith, and a 
reliance upon weak, inefficient human goodness. 
But the death-bed of a man brings all his profes- 
sions and pretensions to the test, and tries them by 
an infallible rule. When he approaches the last 
hour, the hopes of the pharisee fade away, and his 
expectations are blown and lost. He has as many 
fears, as many torturing forebodings, as much dis- 
tress over his past life, as if he had never de- 
ceived himself or deceived others. He is strip- 
ped of self, and his naked character stands out 
as the light of eternity shines upon it.' He is dis- 
mantled of his broad phylactery and alms-giving, 



212 



ANGEL WHISPERS. 



and long, eloquent prayers, and finely finished fig- 
ures, which now lie like an old, worthless, castaway 
garment, the scorn of angels, and the torment of 
himself. Those very objects which are good and \ 
worthy in themselves, and the performance of which | 
so adorn the human character, are, in consequence ' 
of being trusted in, and boasted of, made sources 
of shame and condemnation, and the soul departs, 
feeling that all is lost. 

The body goes with the rich man, and the learned 
man, and the proud man, and they decay together. 
A few feet of ground contains the form of him who 
deemed himself better than his fellows, and who 
carried his head high in consequence of his ^sup- 
posed virtues. His presumptuous boasts, his mov- 
ing protestations, his loud and pious professions, 
his long and labored speeches, and, alas ! his heart- 
less prayers, are all with him in the tomb. There 
lies his perished goodness — flowers which emit no 
fragrance, and leaves which present no beauty. 
This is a picture of much of the righteousness of 
earth. It is the sure fate of all that embellishment 
of character which does not emanate from the pure 
morality of the great atonement. Like the flower • 
which the frosts destroy, it is as soon forgotten and 
lost. 

5. The wicked man dies. It seems as though 
this fact was forgotten by the mass of ungodly men 



THE SIX DEATH-BEDS. 213 

that make up society. By wicked men in this con- 
nection, I do not refer to those who are merely un- 
converted, but who are outwardly amiable, but to 
the openly wicked and abandoned. Such there are 
in great numbers. They are known by the awful 
blasphemy and the profane oath ; by the open in- 
sult which is heaped upon the blessed Saviour ; by 
the base denials of the existence of God, and all 
those open acts of wickedness which make men and 
angels tremble. The head of the robber and the 
murderer will lie in dust. Though they have 
braved God for years, and hardened themselves 
against Him, they will at last go down to people 
the world of shades, and their ashes will mingle 
with the great aggregate of dust. I say this is a 
forgotten fact, and men, when they rush to crime, 
think not of it. But the bravery and impiety of 
wicked men are no proofs against the attacks of 
crime, as the whole history of the past will show. 
Where is the body of Paine, the noted infidel, who 
died in the most aggravated torments ? It has re- 
turned to dust ! Where is the body of Alexander, 
whose course was stained with blood 1 It has re- 
turned to dust ! Where is the body of Napoleon, 
whose name carried terror over a whole continent, 
and whose fall created a shout of thanksgiving] 
It has returned to dust! And the wicked men 
who now live, and who' are darkening the earth with 
14 



214 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

their crimes, are all tending downward to the grave, 
and in a little while, naught will remain of them 
but dust and ashes. The universal sentence is, 
'' Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.'' 
6. The good man dies. The highest state of 
virtue is no proof against death. The old patri- 
archs, who watched and talked with God, who lived 
in near, dear, and intimate communion with Him, 
passed away when they had filled up the measure of 
their earthly being. The apostles, leaving some 
noble testimony to the value of religion, and the 
power of Christ to save from hell, went down to 
the grave, and their dust is lost. The most holy 
men of our times, and the most laborious and suc- 
cessful, too, have died, in one faith, and ascended to 
one Lord. The Christian in vain wanders about 
among the alters of the church, in search of those 
who once ministered to the people of God. He will 
ask for Whitefield, the intrepid apostle, who la- 
bored awhile, led a multitude to Christ, but whose 
voice is now silent in the cold and dreary tomb. 
A few bones beneath the pulpit in which he once 
preached will be shown as a reply. He may ask 
for Wesley, the founder of a great community of 
saints, the eloquent expounder of the Scriptures, 
and the now honored name, which is engraven in 
the front rank of the hosts of God ? An unassum- 
mg monument in the rear of the church in which 



THE SIX DEATH-BEDS. 215 

he once declared the Gospel of Christ, tells us 
where all that remains of Wesley is deposited. 

We ask for Roger Williams, the great founder 
of another sect, the exponent of civil and religious 
liberty, the first to declare a sentiment of truth and 
liberty which runs through our declaration of inde- 
pendence, and our federal constitution ? His grave 
is not known ; his ashes are scattered ; his dust 
has returned to dust. 

If we inquire for men of modern times who have 
lived well, and labored well for God, we shall re- 
ceive similar replies. Wisner and Worcester, 
Baldwin and Stillman, GrilSfin and Knowles, on this 
side of the water, and Irving and Chalmers, Car- 
son and Pierce, on the other side of the ocean, are 
sleeping in the dust, while Judson and Mills, the 
great founders and originators of American missions, 
sleep beneath the w^ave. They have all gone to one 
place; dust they were, and unto dust they have 
returned. 

And living good men are to die. The virtues of 
their lives, and the heroism of their deeds, will not 
keep them in life, beyond the appointed boun'ls ! 
They are all tending to the tomb — all marching to 
their graves, soon to decompose, scatter, be lost^ 
forgot, and perished. 

How keenly do these reflections rush upon us 
"when we stand in some ru;^jil cemetery, and see 



216 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

the graves and monuments of good men and bad, 
rich men and poor, wise men and ignorant, all to- 
gether, without distinction or classification. The 
rich ruler, and the poor subject ; the philosopher, 
and the unlettered mechanic ; the Christian and 
the warrior, all lying as if they were of kith and 
kin. This thought impressed itself upon my mind 
as, a few months ago, I stood in the retreats of 
Pere la Chaise, which overlooks the city of Paris, 
a burial ground of extraordinary interest, which is 
filled up with monuments and chapels, and where 
dead marshals and starved paupers — wealth and 
poverty — fashion and aristocracy — love and valor, 
have all found a place to repose. Dust thou art, 
and unto dust shalt thou return, seemed to be in 
my mind continually, as I saw the tombs all cov- 
ered over with wreaths and votive offerings ; the 
chapels filled with images and crosses ; the altars 
beaming with lighted candles which, like the ves- 
tal fires of ancient Rome, never go out. It was 
the end of life, and on the tomb-stones there, were 
a hundred inscriptions which uttered the same 
melancholy testimony, "Dust to dust, ashes to 
ashes.'' 

Is there a strong man here 1 Your strength will 
depart, your vigor will decrease, and you will- die. 
Is there a wise man here ? Your wisdom cannot 
find any way to obviate the pains of death, or any 



I 



THE SIX DEATH-BEDS. 217 

path into the future but through the cold grave. 
Is there a rich man ? Your wealth can purchase 
a downy bed, and exciting cordials, but not an 
inch of time, nor a moment of life? Is there a 
proud man? Your pride will become food for 
worms ? Is there a wicked man ? Death will end 
your blasphemy and sin, and introduce you to your 
doom. Is there a good man'? You, too, must go, 
for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. 
Aye, all mankind, in one long processioja, are 
going to the grave — the good, the bad, the rich, the 
wise — to lie in one cold and dismal home. The 
tribes of men are like the regiments of a vast army, 
numbers of which are continually falling in the 
march. But the grave holds nothing but the clay ; 
the spirit enters heaven, and a precious memory is 
cherished of them in our hearts. As surely as all 
die and go to one place, as surely shall all rise and 
stand before God. 

** Where do they dwell ? Near grassy mounts, by daisies. 
Lilies, and yellow-cups of fairest gold ; 
Near gray-grown walls, where in wild, tortuous mazes. 
Old clustering ivy wreathes in many a fold* 
Where, in red summer noons, 
Fresh leaves are rustling ; 
Where, 'neath large autumn moons, 
Young birds are nestling — 
Do they dwell there ? 



218 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

"Where do they dwell? In sullen waters, lying 
On beds of purple sea-flowers newly sprung ; 
Where the mad whirlpooFs wild and ceaseless sighing 
Frets sloping banks, by dark green reeds o'erhung ; 
Where, by the torrent's swell, 
Crystal stones glitter. 
While sounds the heavy bell 
Over the river — 

Do they dwell there ? 

**No: for in these they slumber to decay, 
And their remembrance with their life departs ; 
They have a home — nor dark, nor far away — 
Their proper home — within our faithful hearts; 
These happy spirits wed, 
Loving forever ; 
There dwell with us, the dead, 
Parting — ai, never— 

There lo they dwell T 



XIII. 

THE DOOR OF HEAVEN. 

And behold, a door was opened in heaven.—REVELATiofr. 

John was a privileged man. It was his lot to 
gaze into the secrets of time, and reveal tuat 
which should come to pass. That John under- 
stood all he saw we have no reason to believe. 
To him it was a vision, and he probably did not 
know what meaning to attach to the sacred sym* 
bols. The various visions of the Apocalypse 
passed before him, and he saw them as visions 
only. He was the agent in the hands of God of 
communicating to us on whom the ends of the 
world have fallen the undeviating purposes of the 
court of heaven. But though concealed from 
him, he must have known that a sacred and glo- 
rious reality was hidden beneath these figures. 
To his prophetic mind there must have appeared 
a wonderful meaning in all he saw and in every 
sentence he heard. It was worth all the sorrows 
of a banishment to Patmos thus to hold commu- 
nion with heaven, and be permitted thus to inves- 
tigate things unutterable. 

Shortly after John was banished to Patmos kd 



220 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

received from God a message for the seven sym- 
bolic chui'ches of Asia Minor. Then followed 
the glorious visions, in the length and breadth of 
which he saw the whole religious, political, civil, 
and military history of the world, from his stand- 
point, to the end of time. I propose now to com- 
ment upon what may appropriately be denomi- 
nated his first glimpses into heaven. 

John probably, at the time he received the 
vision, may have been musing on the condition 
and history of the church of Christ. Banished 
from his friends and his labors among the people, 
shut out from the world, he had time for awful 
thoughts. While he mused and pondered on 
celestial things, with his eyes and heart turned 
heavenward, he saw the outlines of a door form- 
ing in the sky, each minute becoming more dis- 
tinct and intelligible. Soon the door opened, — 
the vision does not say whether upon its own 
golden springs or turned by angelic hands, — and 
the exiled minister had a long and glorious view 
into the paradise of God. But still all was indis- 
tinct. The view was not clear, and the objects 
were all too distant. We may suppose he longed 
and panted for a nearer view of divine and heav- 
enly objects. While thus he waited, a trumpeter 
came forth and invited him to take the view for 
which his soul had thirsted. " Come up hither/' 



THE DOOR OF HEAVEN. 221 

said the heavenly messenger, " and 1 will show 
thee things which must be hereafter/' " And im- 
mediately," says John, " I was in the spirit.'^ He 
means by this that he was baptized in the spirit, 
overwhelmed with the rapture of the vision, and 
inspired to tell the thing?? which he saw. 

He first saw a throne. God is a sovereign. 
Whenever and wherever men obtain a partial or 
complete view of him, he appears as the King of 
kings. If they see him in the great work of cre- 
ation, it is clothed with all the insignia of roy- 
alty, speaking and it is done, commanding and it 
stands fast. If they see him dealing with a few 
rebellious tribes in the wilderness, it is always as 
a monarch. He never places himself on an equal- 
ity with man, or lowers his dignity. He treats 
with men as with subjects, and never admits them 
to any other position except through Christ. His 
sovereignty shines out of every act, and whenever 
we see him he is on his t^Nrone. 

John saw God on thu throne. He does not 
attempt to describe him. If you open your 
Bibles and turn to this p assage, you will see that 
the expression is a singular one : " Behold, a throne 
was set in Leaven, and oiie sat on it." You will 
notice that the word " one " is \n italics, signify- 
ing that there is nothing in tie original text 
answering to this word, but is an addition by the 



i22 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

translators to make sense. As John left it, it 
would read, "A throne was set in heaven, and 

• sat on it." He did not dare to speak that 

ftwful name, Jehovah. He merely says " he was, 
^0 look upon, like a jasper and a sardine stone." 
Che idea here conveyed is of great brilliancy. 
The jasper and the sardine stones were very 
precious, and very rare, and very beautiful to the 
eye of the beholder. The object of the seer is to 
give us a most lovely view of God, as he sat on 
his throne, surrounded by his worshippers. 

Over this throne was a rainbow, a most signifi- 
cant and delightful emblem, which we shall con- 
sider in a future discourse. Spanning that throne, 
it spoke of hope and safety to the worshippers 
who bowed- in adoration beneath it. 

Round about the throne were *' four and twenty 
seats," and on them sat "four and twenty elders." 
Of course all this is symbolical. The four and 
twenty elders represent, as some suppose, the 
smaller Sanhedrim at Jerusalem, which sat at the 
feet of the high priest ; as others suppose, the 
leaders of the twenty-four orders or courses of 
Jewish priests — an arrangement instituted under 
King David ; as others suppose, the whole com- 
pany of redeemed ones who praise God day and 
night. The idea of John seems to be of a glori- 
ous company, an exalted and honored compaav 



THE DOOR OF HEAVEN. 223 

They were clothed in white, as an emblem of their 
purity ; they had crowns on their heads, betoken- 
ing exaltation and honor. 

While John thu^ s:ood and wondered, light- 
nings and thunderings and voices proceeded out 
of the throne. These were merely making the 
whole scene more grand and awful, and adding 
to the infinite display of the divine attributes. 
"There were seven lamps of fire burning before 
the throne, which are the seven spirits of God." 
Some writers suppose that whenever these seven 
spirits are spoken of, they invariably refer to the 
Holy Ghost ; while others imagine the seven 
spirits to be high and exalted angels, who are the 
special attendants or ministers of God. The lat- 
ter interpretation seems to me to accord best with 
the inspired original. These seven angels — a 
symbolic number — stand before God, ready to do 
his will, and waiting to obey his command. They 
represent the servants of the great King who says 
to his legions, " Go,'' and they depart, *' Come,'' 
and they fall down at his feet. 

There was a sea of glass like unto crystal be* 
fore the throne. At the door of the ancient tab- 
ernacle (Exodus 38 : 8) there was a laver of 
brass, for the purposes of purification. All priests 
entering the tabernacle were to wa^^h in this laver, 
the foot of which was formed of brass and of the 
looking glasses of the women abse^abling, thus 



!224: ANGEL WHISPERS. 

forming a mirror, that the person might see 
whether h s purification was complete. So bv3- 
fore the throne of God is a sea of glass, reveal- 
ing each person to himself, and making his very- 
soul transparent to his own eye. Day and night, 
forever, he sees his own moral image reflected 
from the sea of glass, with startling accuracy. 
Suppose a sinner, unchanged by grace, unbought 
with blood, unsanctified by the Spirit, could press 
through that open door into heaven, and urge hisj 
way, amid the four and twenty elders, up to the* 
very throne of God ! What would he do there ?^ 
How would he feel ? His wicked character wouL 
be reflected from the crystal pavement ; his odiousj 
sins would stare him constantly in the face, and' 
every spot and wrinkle on his wretched life would, 
come out clear as the sunlight. 

John also saw four beasts, full of eyes befor 
and behind. The word '' beast " is not the mos 
appropriate to be used here. '^ A beast in heaven,- 
before the throne of God, sounds oddly.^^^ as Adam; 
Clarke remarks, and is an unfortunate rendering! 
of the original. The word creature should b 
employed, as- commentators with great unanimit; 
admit. The word " beast '^ in this connectio: 
was first employed by Wickliffe, in his transla-^ 
tion of the New Testament, and other translators 
have copied from him. 

To understand the figure of the four leasts it 



THE DOOR OF HEAVEN. 225 

is necessary for ns to know that the tribes of 
Israel were divided into four great divisions — 
Judah, Reuben, Ephraim, and Dan. Each of 
these divisions was independent in itself, in some 
respects ; each had national devices and symbols. 
The roaring lion was the emblem of Judah ; an 
ox, betokening great strength, was the emblem of 
Ephraim ; a beast with a human face was the em- 
blem of Reuben ; an eagle, with his wings spread 
for flight, was the emblem of Dan.. These em- 
blems, the Jewish rabbins tell us, were selected 
on account of their significance, the *' lion being 
monarch among wild beasts, the eagle among 
birds, the ox among cattle, and man among intel- 
ligent creatures.'^ ^ 

Now, let us see how well this vision corre- 
sponds with these tribes. The first beast was a 
lion, the second a calf, the third had the face of 
a man, the fourth was a flying eagle — the very 
creatures which the associated tribes had adopted 
for their emblems. These had six wings, and 
were full of eyes. These six wings were for a 
threefold purpose. With two they cover their 
faces when they worship ; with two they hide 
their feet ; and with two they fly to do the will 
of God. The eyes represent the enlarged vision 
of the saints. They have eyes for the "holy things, 

* Rabbi Abin. 



226 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

they have eyes for the beautiful things, they have 
eyes for the just things ; and with those eyes they 
explore all secrets and plunge into all mysteries, 
they scan all purposes and measure all distances. 

All this glorious company John saw engaged 
ill acts of devotion. They cast their crowns be* 
fore Him who sat on the throne, and cried, " Thou 
art worthy to receive glory and honor and power, 
for thou hast created all things." Again the 
sovereignty of God is brought to our notice. 
There he sits, while the four and twenty elders, 
and the four living creatures, and all the glorified 
company that these represent, bow down. They 
not only declare that he shall have glory and 
honor and power, but they declare him worthy ; 
they say this is his due, for he creates all things 
for his own pleasure. 

Do not our hee^'ts burn within us while we 
contemplate that grand and gloriou.-. spectacle! 
As w^e see the bright squadrons of the sky wheel 
ing a 'ound the throne, do we not cry, — 

"All hail the power of Jesus' name ; 
Let angels prostrate fall ; 
Bring forth the royal diadem, 
And crown him Lord of all " ? 

As wi see the Gentile nations thronging his se^i 



THE DOOR OF HEAVEN. 227 

and joining with the four and twenty elders and 
the four beasts, do we not begin to sing again, — 

" Ye Gentile sinners, ne'er forget 
The wormwood and the gall ; 
Go spread your trophies at his feet, 
And crown him Lord of all " ? 

As we look in and see still beneath the altar the 
souls of the beheaded lying there, and waiMng 
for retribution, do we not say to them, — 

" Hail him, ye martyrs of our God, 
Who from his altar call ; 
Extol the stem of Jesse's rod, 
And crown him Lord of all " ? 

And then, in one wild chorus from all the churches 
on earth, from every altar, from every communion 
table, from all sacred places, does there not arise 
the universal shout, — 

'* Let every kindred, every tribe, 
On this terrestrial ball 
To him all majesty ascribe, 
And crown him Lord of all " ? 

Christian hearers, there is a door open^^d i* 
heaven. Once all was sealed^ aad the ^oaveiis 



228 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

were as brass over our heads. No eye looked 
into that bright abode, no vision ■ penetrated 
within the veil. But God gave us the revelation 
of his own dear Son, and now the blessed volume 
is a door opening from this dark world into the 
mysteries of a vast eternity. Through this door 
Dhe saints can stand and gaze, as John did, into 
vhe holy dwelling-place of God ; they can behold 
ae awful mysteries of the future, and study the 
secrets which for ages have been pondered by the 
angels. 

There is a door by which we may enter heaven. 
Christ and him crucified is the door. No soul 
will ever enter heaven that has not been sprin- 
kled with the blood of atonement, and been made 
a new creature in Christ Jesus. But, washed in 
blood, we may enter the pearly gates of glory, 
and walk the golden streets of paradise. Washed 
in blood, the angels will become our associates, 
and we shall bow with them before the throne.. 
The four and twenty elders will rejoice to own 
us as their friends and associates, and will walk 
with us, clothed in white. 

Do we see that door, or are our eyes blinded 
by sin? Groping and stumbling, hundreds walk 
through this life, searching for the door and find- 
ing it not. They wander round and round among 
the dark pillars of the temple of this world, won- 



THE DOOR OF HEAVEN. 229 

dering where the gate of glory is ; and at last 
they reach the doors of woe, and stumble in, seek- 
ing for life, but finding death. " I," says Christ, 
"am the door." By him the world may enter; 
without him none can approach or even gaze into 
the sacred enclosure. 
15 



XIV. 

THE RAINBOW ROUND THE THRONE. 

And there was a rainbow round about the throne.— RfiVELATiow. 

The Bible contains the most ancient history 
of our world. Its record goes back beyond the 
bright and palmy days of Jerusalem, beyond the 
pyramids which still lift their monstrous forms 
in the land of the Pharaohs, beyond the sweeping 
devastations of the flood, to the very infancy of 
time itself. Even the sceptic is obliged, when, 
profane history fails him, to fall back upon the 
Mosaic record, which stands out with all clear- 
ness, confirming and confirmed by all the revela- 
tions of science and wisdom. 

The Bible tells us when the first rainbow was 
seen in the heavens, and teaches us the lesson 
which it was designed to give. Previous to the 
flood we have no intimations of rain. Whether 
the earth was moistened by the dews of night, 
whether at times it was gently inundated, or 
whether rain fell and no mention is made of it, 
we cannot tell. And yet it seems to me that, had 
rain fallen in the early history of the world, we 
should have some reference to it. Rain was sent 



THE RAINBOW ROUND THE THRONE. 231 

in judgment, and the angry sky was a token of 
Jehovah's wrath. 

The flood is supposed to have occurred in the 
year 1656, and B. 0. 2293. We learn from the 
Mosaic account that God became angry with man 
on account of sin, end determined to destroy the 
whole race, except a single family. The deluge 
was chosen as the instrument in this destruction, 
and at the appointed time the fountains of the 
deep were broken up, and the windows of heaven 
were opened. The consternation of the people 
can be better imagined than described, as the 
descending rain came driving into their dwellings 
and sweeping away their vineyards. At first, 
perhaps, it fell in gentle showers, like the tears 
of angels, causing each place they touch to blush 
with beauty and smile with joy. Then faster 
and faster it fell, until what seemed drops of 
mercy were turned to waves of deep, unmingled 
sorrow. Soon the low lands w^re all covered, 
and creeping up the hillsides went the rising tide 
The people in the valleys fled up into the moun 
tains, and hid themselves in the caves of thp. 
earth. Soon driven from these retreats, they 
went higher up, or sought safety in the branches 
of th^ -trees. And up came the waters, following 
man, step by step, to the highest peaks, and then 
sweeping him off into the abyss of ruin. At 



232 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

length the last pinnacle of earth disappeared ; 
the whole was submerged, and the ark was driven 
on the bosom of a shoreless ocean. How dreary 
must that prospect have been to Noah, as he 
swept on over the graves of nations, over the tem- 
ples and towers of sixteen hundred years, over 
the wreck of fortunes and the waste of life ! Not 
a mountain appeared in the distance to break his 
view ; not a green island on which he could set 
his foot ; not a shore running along the horizon 
like a bank of cloud ; not a single tree lifting its 
branches above the sweeping billows ; not a sign 
of life or animation, but all the dull rote of the 
sounding sea, the unbounded expanse of water 
stretching out, north, south, east, and west — a 
world without a boundary. And still the ark 
swept on ; now over some thick wooded forest in 
which the waters had silenced the howl of the 
savage beast ; now over cities which centuries had 
decorated with skill and care, and embellished 
with all the useful arts ; now over the palaces of 
kings, in which perished, in wild fear, royal fami- 
lies at whose thrones whole nations bowed ; now 
over the habitations of the poor, over graveyards, 
over battle fields, over temples of worship, over 
the prostrate forms of idols, over mines of gold, 
over scenes of toil, over all of good and evil, 
over all of life. 



THE RAINBOW ROUND THE THRONE. 2{53 

But a few days rolled on, and the waters began 
to abate. The ark rested on the summit of Mt. 
Ararat, and the joyful family of Noah came out 
and fell down in humble adoration before God. 
After the confinement of one hundred and fifty 
days they were glad to emerge from the ark, and 
devout and grateful emotions filled their souls. 
While they bowed around the altar, God appeared^ 
and conversed with Noah, informed him that his 
acts of piety were accepted, and his name was 
remembered in heaven. There, beside that hum- 
ble altar on Mt. Ararat, God in condescension 
reasoned with his servant, and made the gracious 
pledge that earth should no more be destroyed by 
a deluge. To make that covenant remembered, 
God set his bow in the heavens, as an everlasting 
memorial of the truth of his promise ; and as he 
spoke, its colors came out, and there, bending 
over that mountain crowned with its altar and 
its ark, was the beautiful pledge of divine faith- 
fulness to man. . And ever since, whenever the 
Btorm, the emblem of divine wrath, has spread 
aver the world, the bow of promise has appeared 
m the heavens, and has spoken eloquent words to 
nan of the truth and veracity of God. 

The conception of John is a most beautiful 
dne. In the glimpse which he had of heaven and 
glory, he saw a rainbow round about the throne, 



234 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

spanning it with beauties, and shedding its hues 
on the worshippers below. No more significant 
figure could represent the safety and happiness 
of the exalted saints. To them that bow, bend- 
ing there, was a pledge of divine love, spanning 
the horizon of their happiness, and constantly 
assuring them that the deluge of sin would sweep 
against their ark no more. As we first read the 
text, we are struck with the figure, but we have 
to analyze it ere we see its significance. Let us 
study the figure more at detail, for our comfort 
and edification. The rainbow is a pledge that 
the earth shall never be deluged with water ; the 
rainbow round about the throne is a pledge of 
God^s protection to his people. 

1. A perfect pledge. The rainbow is formed 
of all the primary colors, uniting and blending, 
through the influence of the sun, into one perfect 
harmony of beauties. By the laws of reflection 
and refraction, the rays of light from the misty 
atmosphere are drawn out and woven together 
into an arch of triumph worthy to decorate the 
passage of the King of kings. In that bow each 
shade mingles, and blends, and melts into another, 
until the eye is charmed and the soul is ravished 
with the splendor. To that arch no painter can 
add a single trace of beauty ; it is the perfection 
of beautiful colors. So the rainbow of divine 



THE RAINBOW ROUND THE THRONE. 235 

promises, which spans the throne of God, is a 
perfect arch, in which every conceivable promise 
is blended. As the believer on earth and the 
saint in heaven goes to the throne of God, he 
sees over it the rainbow of divine promises, shin- 
ing and glittering in beauty. There are prom- 
ises for helpless infancy, for life's young morning, 
for the giddiness of youth, for manhood's prime, 
for old age, for trembling weakness, for the in- 
firmities of a century. There are pi^omises for 
health and vigor, for decline and decay, for the 
bed of death. There are promises for those who 
prosper, for those who are sad, for those who are 
afflicted. There are promises for the penitent 
sinner, for the contrite sinner, for the despairing 
sinner, for the hopeful sinner, for the believing 
sinner. There are promises for the widow, as 
she bends over her husband's new-made grave, 
and sheds on it her bitter tears ; there are prom- 
ises for the mother who wraps a shroud around 
her babe, and places the little form in th^ hands 
of death ; there are promises for the orphan who 
is left unprotected and defenceless in this cold 
cruel world of sin. There are promises for the 
sailor on the mountain wave, and for the travel- 
ler delving amid the old relics of the past. There 
are promises for every condition in life^ for every 
variety of earthly circumstance. They are higa 



236 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

promises, broad promises, deep promises, sublime 
promises, eternal promises. They reach every 
thing. They take hold of railroads, of steam- 
boats, of rivers and lakes, of sick beds, of all the 
dangers, visible and invisible, which throng our 
mortal life. All these promises, blended into one 
divine arch of glory and grace, span the mercy 
seat, as the believer goes to it in earnest, humble 
prayer. What encouragement does this afford 
every trembling disciple of Christ ! There is a 
rainbow round about the throne. Blending into 
it are a thousand promises. If you are weak, there 
is a promise of strength ; if you mourn, there is 
a promise that you shall be comforted ; if you 
weep, there is a promise that you shall have all 
tears wiped from your eyes ; if you have sinned, 
there is a promise of peace and pardon ; if you 
are cast down and depressed, there is a promise 
that God will raise you up. This earth is a 
dreary earth, cursed by sin, an earth which bears 
the marks of divine displeasure. But there is a 
rainbow round about the throne, and it shines 
brightly, and is resplendent with all the promises 
of God. 

Sometimes, after a storm, you go out and find 
the streets flooded with water, your vines washed 
up by the roots, your flowers broken to pieces, 
the trees just ready to break down with the accu- 



THE RAINBOW ROUND THE THRONE. 217 

mulated weight upon their leaves and branches, 
gorges cut in the hillsides, your paths all washed 
and disordered, and the whole in confusion. Just 
then sad thoughts fill your mind ; you murmur ; 
your countenance becomes troubled ; and your 
soul, like the scene before you, wears an aspect 
of gloom. But you look up, and over against the 
sun, resting on the sky, is God's bow set in the 
clouds. It speaks to you of the morrow ; it is a 
promise that your desolated garden shall smile 
again, and that the very storm that ravaged it 
will be a blessing to it. The murmur dies upon 
your lips ; better thoughts come thronging your 
mind ; a smile covers your countenance, and the 
frown disappears, and you call your children 
round you to look up and bless the bright, beau- 
tiful arch on which is written, " The Lord is a 
sun and a shield ; no good thing will he withhold 
from them that walk uprightly.'' 

So this earth, like your garden, has been deso- 
lated by sin. The traces of its former beauty 
are gone. Seas of sorrows roll here, supplied by 
streams of tears. There are graves and tombs ; 
there are fierce foes, and relentless enemies, and 
false friends. If we look about us at the broken 
vines of virtue and truth, at the gorges cut ia 
the mountains of friendship, at the sepulchre of 
beauty and life, we shall be sad indeed. Mourn- 



238 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

ful imirmurs will escape us, and we shall walk 
through life bowed and broken-hearted. But look 
up. There is a rainbow round about the throne. 
It spans the whole footstool of mercy, and sends 
down its hallowed light to tell of comfort and 
hope to man. It is a* perfect pledge of God^s 
boundless, eternal love to his creatures. 

2. A beautiful pledge. We thank God that he 
gave to the world such a beautiful sign of his 
grace. If, as a pledge that no other deluge 
should ever come upon the earth, he had set a 
black, frowning cloud, or a bright, flashing pillar 
of fire, it would have been a great act of mercy. 
But there would have been but little beauty in 
the cloud or the fire. We should have turned 
away from them at a moment^s glance. But God, 
as if to win our attention and fix our gaze on 
this evidence of his goodness, combined all the 
colors, and blended them into one beautiful arch, 
which rests upon the dark, frowning sky with a 
most charming contrast. The eye never tires in 
gazing at it. When it appears in the heavens, old 
men and maidens, the grave and the gay, come 
out to see it, and patiently they watch it until its 
last beams have faded entirely away. So the 
bow of divine promises which spans the mercy 
seat combines the highest order of beauty with 
the greatest grace. When God wished to prom- 



THE RAINBOW ROUND THE THRONE. 239 

% 

ise protection to the woman who had lost a hus- 
band and the child who had lost a father, he said, 
" I will be a husband to the widow, and a father 
to the fatherless." When he wished to promise 
guidance to the child deserted by earthly rela 
tives, he put it into the heart of a good man to 
say, "When my father and my mother forsake 
me, then the Lord will take me up.'' When he 
wished to invite the wandering children of earth 
to his feet, he exclaims, " Look unto me, all ye 
ends of the earth, and be ye saved." " Come," 
he says, " let us reason together ; though your 
sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow ; 
though they be red Tike crimson, they shall be as 
wool." " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye 
to the waters ; and he that hath no money, come 
ye, buy wine and milk, without money and with- 
out price." With the greatest degree of perfec- 
tion these promises combine great beauty and sig- 
nificancy, and, like the rainbow, they draw our 
attention, they fix our thoughts, they win our 
admiration, and enlist all our souls. 
. 3. A pledge of safety and security. An arch 
is often used as an emblem of strength. We find 
in the ancient cities that the arches were more 
enduring than almost any other class of monu- 
ments. In Rome, the arch of Titus, the arch of 
Constantine, and many others, yet stand in won- 



240 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

derful perftction, while the temples, the pillars, 
and the palaces of that era have been shaken 
down by the hand of time. When, therefore, 
God was about to give a sign to men, he selected 
the arch, which, spanning the world, gives us an 
idea of solidity and firmness. With all its lights 
lively colors, the rainbow, whenever seen, is an 
emblem of security. It rests on the mountains, 
and looks as if it never could be removed. And 
so with the rainbow of promises which bends 
over the mercy seat in heaven. Based on the 
mountains of divine goodness, and rising to a 
glorious height, it teaches the inviolability of 
the word of God. The word of man often fails, 
but the word of God does not. Not one of the 
promises to the widow and the fatherless, to the 
weeping and the sad, to the penitent and believ- 
ing, will ever be disappointed. Whoever relies 
on God will never be moved. As the mountains 
were round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round 
about them that fear him. As the world has no 
fear of another deluge to sweep away its inhabit- 
ants, or another flood to drown the nations, so 
the believer has no reason to fear that the bow 
over the throne will fail, or the promises which 
are gathered into it will remain unfulfilled. 

4. A perpetual pledge, a universal pledge. The 
rainbow has no end. It rises in one ocean and 



THE RAINBOW ROUND THE THRONE. 241 

sets in another. It is not an immense pyramid 
of light, shooting up into glory, nor a long hori- 
zontal stream of light, flaming through the clouds, 
but an arch, spanning the world, and taking us 
all into its circle. It is a beautiful emblem of 
eternity, which is without beginning and without 
end. Thus to the believer the rainbow round 
the throne speaks to him the endlessness of the 
promises of God. The rainbow covers all who 
place themselves beneath it, and its promises are 
alike to all. They are not transient, but they 
stand through endless years. 

There was a rainbow round about the throne ! 
This John saw when in exile he obtained a de- 
lightful view of heaven. There was a throne, 
and a very terrible one. Voices and lightnings 
and thunderings proceeded out of it, and it was 
very awful to gaze upon. But over it was a rain- 
bow ; and when John saw that, he was not afraid 
to approach the place, and stand with the four 
and twenty elders before God. And if we ever 
obtain a view of heaven, if by faith we ever see, 
through the door opened in heaven, the great 
temple of eternity, we shall see the throne, 
spanned by the arch of promise, and hung with 
the emblems of beauty, safety, perfection, and 
eternity. 

And there cometh on the world another flood 



242 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

— not of water, for God's bow has been set in 
the heavens as a surety against that — but a flood 
of tribulation, to destroy them that fear not God. 
0, compared with that the deluge which swept 
the antediluvian world away will be as nothing. 
But now, as then, an ark will ride on the flood — 
Christ that ark. All who are in him will sur- 
vive the general wreck, outsail the storm, outride 
the deluge, and land at last on Ararat ; and as 
they build an eternal altar to the glory of God 
and the praise of divine grace, they will lift their 
eyes and behold a rainbow around the throne, 
with colors far more vivid than were mingled in 
that which Noah saw spanning the heights of the 
mountain on which his ark rested. And, alas ! 
where then will the wicked be ? Where will be 
the innumerable company that love not God, and 
obey not his Son ? As it was in the days of 
Noah, so shall it be in the end of the world. 
" Swept away " will be the history of the throngs 
who refuse to yield to Christ and enter the ark 
of safety. Who can describe the sorrow of the 
people who, when the flood came, went to the ark 
and found the door shut, and they barred out ? 
And who can describe the sorrows of those who, 
in the last day, find the door of mercy closed 
against them ? Look up, and behold the rainbow 
round about the throne ! 



1 



XV. 

THE MERCY SEAT. 

The mercy seat—CHROwicLEs. 

In all their wanderings through the wilder- 
ness, the children of Israel carried with them an 
ark, which, after all their travels, found rest with 
them in the temple at Jerusalem. This ark was 
a small box, three feet and nine inches long by 
two feet and three inches wide. It was made of 
a very fragrant wood, well put together, and cov- 
ered over with plates of gold. On each side of 
the ark were two rings of gold, through which 
ornamented poles were passed, for the greater 
convenience of carrying the sacred treasure from 
place to place. In this ark were the tables of the 
law written by God, and given to Moses on the 
mount ; a golden pot containing three quarts of 
manna, which had beea gathered in the wilder- 
ness and miraculously preserved ; Aaron's rod, 
which budded and sent forth its miraculous fruit ; 
and one or two other articles, sacred to the 
Israelites. This ark had a cover, or lid, like the 
lid of a chest ; and on each end of this cover 
was an angel — a cherub of gold — with his wings 



244 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

upraised, hovering over the ark. This lid was 
the mercy seat, on which God was supposed to 
Bit in an especial manner to hear the wants of his 
people. Over this lid or mercy seat hovered the 
shekinah, a mysterious cloud, which was supposed 
to conceal the awful form of Deity from the gaze 
of the bending worshippers. This cloud de- 
scended from heaven and took its place over the 
ark when that was first made, and, remaining 
with it, went into the temple on the day of the 
dedication. When the people wanted any favor, 
they came from their employments and pleasures 
to bow before the ark, and to beseech God to 
hear and answer them. There, at that mercy 
seat, the weary heart was lightened of its load 
of sin and shame ; there the wounded soul was 
comforted and blessed ; there the desponding was 
inspired with an immortal hope ; and there grace, 
in its sweetest, divinest form, was imparted to the 
saints. 

The ark of the covenant is gone. The Jews 
suppose it to be still in existence. Beneath the 
mosque of Omar, on Mount Zion, where once 
stood the temple, are said to be deep caves and 
long chambers filled with articles once used in 
the Jewish service. Superstition and tradition 
prevent the exploration of those long subterra- 
nean galleries and chambers by any Mohammedan, 



THE MERCY SEAT. 245 

and Christian feet are not allowed within the 
gate. The tradition of the Jews is, that when 
the temple was sacked, on various occasions, the 
priests fled with the gold and silver vessels to 
these underground halls prepared for the pur- 
pose, and, having deposited and locked them in, 
left them in the miraculous care of God, to be 
exhumed and used by future generations. That 
the ark will be found, the Jews confidently be- 
lieve, notwithstanding all the various accounts 
of its destruction. 

But though the ark of God is gone, the mercy 
seat remains ; not that mercy seat overlaid with 
gold, and guarded by winged cherubs, but a 
mercy seat on which sits the King of kings and 
the Lord of lords ; and to that mercy seat I wish 
to call your attention. 

1. God sits upon it. However God represents 
himself at times as a severe being, hating sin, and 
taking vengeance on transgressors, you find that 
he nowhere forgets his mercy or abandons his 
grace. He represents himself as a father waiting 
to hear the voices of his children, with his hands 
full of blessings to supply their wants. So can 
we look up to God. There he sits, upon a throne 
of grace, upon the mercy seat, attentive to all 
the petitions which are presented. When the 
Christian sees God upon the throne of creation, 
16 



246 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

flashing the lightnings athwart the world, and 
rolling his thunders round the globe, he trembles, 
and is afraid. Like Moses before the burning 
bush, he puts the shoes from off his feet, and like 
Israel at the base of Sinai, he yields himself to 
terrible fears. When he sees God controlling 
the storm, bringing forth the harvest, spreading 
sunlight over the face of merry creation, his. fear 
departs, and admiration takes its place. He 
looks into the face of God with wonder and de- 
light. But when he sees him upon the mercy 
seat, he has still more exalted conceptions of his 
majesty. He loves him then with all his heart ; 
his fear, his admiration, merge themselves in one 
deep, all-pervading gush of affection for a being 
who in the midst of the countless affairs and the 
intricate workings of his government, finds time 
to commune with the creatures of earth, and 
speak to them in the lute notes of mercy. 0, 
were it not for this, man might well despair of 
evei* finding peace or rest any where ! But when 
he approaches the volume of inspiration, and 
gazes down with his tearful eyes into its sacred 
truths, he finds there the mercy seat revealed, and 
his griefs disappear at once. With eyes filled 
now with tears of joy, he cries, — 



" A throne of grace I then let us go 
And offer up our prayer ; 



I 



THE MERCY SEAT. 247 

A gracious God will mercy show 
To all that worship there." 

This fact is well calculated to inspire all who 
pray, with the most delicious confidence. God is 
there I Though the waves of sin may be swelling 
around us, though the heavens may be black over 
our heads, though awful voices may be heard, 
appalling us, yet God is there! The universe 
may be in confusion, angels may be in rebellion, 
the^ courses of nature may all be stopped, but 
God is there ! Never for a single moment does 
he leave that mercy seat, that throne of grace. 

" A throne of grace : rejoice, ye saints ; 
That throne is open stiU ; 
To God unbosom your complaints, 
And there inquire his will." 

2. Christ is the medium of approach to the 
mercy seat. That throne of grace is the old 
judgment seat on which God sat when he pro- 
nounced the sentence of everlasting banishment 
from heaven upon the angels who kept not their 
first estate. Once it was the throne whence God 
denounced vengeance upon his foes ; the angels 
approached it with awe and trembling ; and 
flashing fires burned around it continually. It 
was the throne of judgment, and terrors wrapped 
it round. 



248 



ANGEL WHISPERS. 



" Once 'twas a seat of dreadful wrath, 
And shot devouring flame ; 
Our God was then consuming fire, 
And vengeance was his name." 



Ll^V. 



But Christ gave himself a sacrifice to appease 
the wrath of olEfended Deity ; his blood shed for 
the remission of sins fell on that avrful throne. 
The fires went out, and the dreadful voice of 
wrath was hushed. Mercy spread a mantle of 
light over the seat of justice, and henceforth the 
throne of judgment was the throne of grace. •Be- 
side that throne Christ stands, day and night, for- 
ever, to introduce the believer who comes in his 
, own name to the everlasting Father. As the Chris- 
tian kneels there, engaged in deep, earnest, spirit- 
ual devotion, he feels the hand of Christ drawing 
him nearer to the awful God. He shrinks back 
instinctively, conscious of his own unworthiness 
to go near to him in whose sight the heavens are 
not clean, and before whom the angels are impure. 
But Christ draws him gently forward, until he is 
before the throne. As the maiden blind from her 
birth is led along through ranks of noble lords 
and courtly dames, to the very feet cf the king 
of whom she wishes a favor, unconscious as she 
goes of her nearness to the royal presence, yet 
confident in the hand that leads her, insensible 



THE MERCY SEAT, 249 

to the wealth and beauty which dazzle others, so 
the child of God is led amid troops of angels, by 
the seats of cherubim and seraphim, near and 
nearer to the God he loves, until he feels the 
breath of Deity exhaled gently as the air of 
heaven upon his closed eyes and his aching heart, 
and he knows, as he falls down in the luxury of 
prayer, that God has received him. Through 
Christ, and him crucified, there is access to God, 
to the throne of grace. Whoever should think 
of going to the mercy seat without Christ would 
never reach it. That angel escort would beat 
him back ; those cherub legions would stretch 
their ranks all around the place, and none could 
approach it. The reason why we are not heard 
when we pray is because wc do not come in the 
name of Christ. We do not put our hand in his, 
and submit to be led, like the blind maiden, to 
the feet of the great King, there to stand while 
Christ speaks for us and places his merits to our 
account. We intrude ourselves upon the notice 
and into the presence of God, wilh no one to in- 
troduce us to his awful majesty ; and no wonder 
that the mercy seat yields us no relief to our sor- 
rows ! Whoever comes to God must come through 
Christ ; he must have a mysterious connection 
with that blood shed on Calvary ; he must be 
united with Christ in the bonds of a living, ex- 
alted faith. 



250 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

3. The mercy seat is accessible to all. The 
interviews with njonarchs are usually granted to 
great, honored, or learned men. The poor stand 
in crowds around the palace gate, to catch a 
glimpse of the sovereign, as he passes or repasses. 
But interviews with God may be had by all. 
There is no one so poor that he may not be pre- 
sented at the court of heaven. He needs no 
costly dress in which to come ; the robe of a 
Redeemer's righteousness alone will cover him. 
He must pay no money to the guard ; angels 
scorn the gift. They will not hesitate to admit 
him, though his name may never have been known 
to the noble of the earth, though his dress may 
be patched and ragged, though his body may be 
•scarred with wounds, though he may be dishon- 
ored and disgraced among men. God will re- 
ceive him with as much honor as if he were a 
king, just stepped from his throne, or a queen, 
with all her robes of grace and beauty on. The 
seat on which God sits is not a throne of state, 
which must be maintained, and which would be 
tarnished by the approach of beggars, but it is a 
throne of grace, a mercy seat. The wretched, 
too, may come. Whoever hath a want or a 
wound, a woe or a sorrow to be alleviated or 
healed, whoever has been deserted by friends, 
persecuted by enemies, deceived by the world, 
and cast down by cruel wrong, may come. The 



THE MERCY SEAT. 251 

sinner may come — the vile and wretched crimi- 
nal, who has disgraced himself, his kindred, and 
his country. All covered over with sins, he may 
approach the throne and be accepted. Could we 
tear aside the veil which hides the mercy seat 
from men, we should behold kneeling there all 
conditions and ranks in life, all joyfully received. 
The learned man would be seen bowing there. 
Before that throne, "his senses take a quicker life, 
and become one refined and exquisite emotion.'' 

*' His spirit is entranced 
With joy exalted to beatitude." *^ 

By his side, at the same mercy seat, kneels a man 
who cannot write his own name, but who caa 
read the name of Christ in his own living experi- 
ence. Unutterable wisdom streams down upon 
his soul while there bowing before God. There 
is the rich man. He has come from his home of 
luxury, to enjoy the luxury of prayer. By his 
side is a slave in chains ; but as he prays, his 
free spirit soars above his fetters. The Hindoo 
is there, and the polished European ; the Tartar 
and the Hottentot, the polished and the rude, 
speaking all languages, but all understood and 
all accepted. God smiles, Christ rejoices, angela 
shout, while men of all nations come, and the 



252 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

** Dialects unheard at Babel or at Jewish Pentecost 
Now first articulate divinest sounds, 
And swell the universal anthem." 

O, yes ; if you and I, sinners as we are, wish 
to see God, and hear his voice, we shall find him 
on the mercy seat ; pronouncing the name of 
Christ, we shall be accepted, and, notwithstand- 
ing our unworthiness, our wishes will be met, 

4. An approach to the mercy seat is one of the 
most simple yet sublime acts of religious devotion. 
How awfully sublime the spectacle of a human 
being approaching the throne of grace, to pour 
his woes and wants, not into an angel's ears, but 
into the listening ear of God himself! It must 
be a source of wonder to the cherubic hosts, as, 
from their dazzling stations, they behold the 
Jehovah of eternity giving audience to a poor, 
wounded child of earth, listening to the story of 
his wrongs, and stooping down from his infinite 
height to pour .solace and salvation into that 
afflicted spirit. Where is sublimity, if not here? 
Where is grandeur, if not in such a scene? The 
marching pageantry of nations and all the sub- 
limity of earth equal not the scene where God 
gives audience to man. 

But the simplicity of prayer equals its sublim- 
ity. Who cannot pray? Who so poor, so igno- 



THE MERCY SEAT. 253 

rant, so wretched, so guilty, that he cannot pour 
out his soul to God, in earnest supplication ? 
From the Son of God down to the poorest wretch 
that ever crept on earth, there is nothing so sim- 
ple yet so sublime as prayer. Our Savior, when 
he was on earth, gave us a model for a prayer, 
and it constitutes a gem of thought as pure and 
precious as ever breathed from the lips of infinite 
wisdom. It combines in their highest forms the 
sublimity of hea\en with the touching depend- 
ence of earth. Henry Ward Beecher, in an elo- 
quent paragraph now floating on the bosom of 
the public press, says of this petition, — 

" It is the universal prayer. Besides its sim- 
plicity, its depth, its comprehensiveness, its majes- 
ty, there have gathered about this transparent 
model extensive interests. For now near two 
thousand years it has been the prayer of all 
Christians. It was spoken by Christ. It was 
remembered and used by the apostles. Their 
disciples adopted it. It became a universal 
prayer. It has lived both in the pure and the 
corrupt church. While the learned and cultured 
felt its significance, and breathed it forth as a 
part of their daily devotion, the poorest laborers, 
the most ignorant Christian servants, were also 
touched by it, and comforted. It was embedded 
into the conglomerate liturgies of the church ; 



254 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

and while in magnificent cities, and from the 
recesses of grand cathedrals, it was uttered by 
gorgeous priests, amidst the smoke of incense, 
and chanting choirs, it still retained its sim- 
plicity, its depth, its spirituality. This sweet 
prayer lay amidst the Romish ritual like some lit- 
tle lake amidst mountains, piled up about it, over- 
grown with rank luxuriance, and full of the pomp 
of the seasons, while the lake lay tranquilly re- 
flecting heaven in its bosom." 

So of all true prayer ; its language, the natu- 
ral outgush of its spirit, is true and unadorned 
simplicity. The most learned men, the most elo- 
quent orators, when they pray, bend to one sim- 
ple strain of holy fervor. The eloquent prayers 
which some men offer, in which they bring for- 
ward the flowers of rhetoric, to charm, if possi- 
ble, the ear of God, are an abomination to him 
He loves a simple heart better than the most elo- 
quent oration. You have heard of a woman who 
was commended for giving two mites into the 
treasury of the Lord, while rich men, who gave 
of their abundance, were not commended ; so the 
widow's prayer sometimes rises to heaven, and 
finds admittance to the ear of God, while the 
prayer of the learned man dies emptily on the 
wind. 0, ^tis an awful thing to pray ! The man 
who approaches the mercy seat with a thought- 



THE MERCY SEAT. 2i5 

less heart makes himself an intolerable offence to 
God. He loveth the humble, and the proud he 
knoweth afar off. He will not hear the plea 
of a man who comes to him wrapped up in self-* 
righteousness and sin. He will send him away 
without his requests, and will leave him destitute 
of his blessings. 

5. The mercy seat is the appointed place where 
the blessing of heaven is to be obtained. We 
greatly misapprehend the relations of the mercy 
seat to us. We greatly undervalue the privilege 
of prayer. God has ordained prayer as the me- 
dium through which many of our blessings are to 
be received ; and I know of no condition in life 
where a man may not present his wants to God. 
If a Christian has notes to be met, if he has obli- 
gations to perform, if he has plans to be carried 
into execution, God, who watches over the tem- 
porgll as well as the spiritual interests of his 
people, will listen to the prayer he chooses to 
offer. In our hurrying, driving world, business 
and prayer are too far separated from each other. 
The man of business has religion in his closet, in 
his family, in the church, but does not think of 
making the matters of his counting house and 
workshop subjects of earnest prayer to God. 

We should pray more. The blessings we need 
do not descend upon us because the holy stream 



256 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

of earnest pleading does not ascend to heaven 
from our lips and hearts. The preaching of the 
gospel is almost powerless, because Christians do 
*not follow it with earnest supplications. There 
is but little prayer in the church for the truth. 
Men come to the sanctuary, and if they are 
pleased with the sermon are well satisfied. While 
it is being preached, they do not sit sending up 
strong prayers to heaven for the descent of the 
all-powerful Spirit. Once a minister resigned 
his office as pastor of his church. His people 
gathered about him in surprise and grief, and 
asked the reason for such sudden action. " Why," 
said he, " my ministry is unblessed ; and the rea- 
son is, I have lost my prayer book." " Prayer 
book ! " they repeated, in surprise ; " Ave never 
knew you used a prayer book." ** Yes," said he, 
" I once had a praying church ; that was my 
prayer book ; and the church has ceased to pray, 
and I have lost the holy influence." How many 
ministers in the ^ame sense have lost their prayer 
book ! 

*' Please, ma am, who is the preacher for to- 
morrow?" asked a poor but pious young girl. 
"Mr. E.," rei)lied the good lady to whom the 
question was put ; "but, K., wliy do you wish to 
know?" (It had been the girFs constant prac- 
tice to come on Saturday to ask the lady this 



THE MERCY SEAT. 257 

same question.) K. blushed, and modestly re- 
plied, *' I always like to know who the preacher 
is, that I may tell better how to praj for him." 

The venerable c^amuel Pearce, of Birmingham, 
used to pass through his vestry on Sabbath morn- 
ing, by a rear passage, to his pulpit. A prayer 
meeting was held oefore the service ; ** and," said 
that holy man, " I always caught the keynote of 
the day, as I paused awhile to listen to the fervent 
prayers which were ascending for the success of 
the truth." 

Dear hearer, do you know how to pray ? It is 
an art divine. Many a man who can make an 
eloquent oration, who can speak fluently on many 
topics in life, cannot pray. To pray right, a man 
must love God and believe on Ciirist. Love is 
an essential element in prayer. 

" He prayeth well who loveth well 
All things, both great and small ; 
He prayeth best who loveth best 
Both man, and bird, and beast ; 
For the dear God, who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all." 

Do you pray? — in your closet, that sweetest 
place of all ? in your family, where the outward 
influence is most to be sought? in the social 
meeting, where others unite? in the house of 



258 ANGEL WHISPERS. 

God, while another leads ? If you do not pray, 
you deprive yourself of one of the greatest lux- 
uries of the Christian life ; you shut against your- 
self one of the golden gates of hope ; you quench 
over your own head one of the stars of faith ; you 
blot one of the most precious promises from the 
book of life. 

" 'Tis sweet to be allowed to pray 
To God, the holy one." 

But if there be no love, there can be no prayer. 
There would be no joy, no worship in heaven, if 
love did not prevail. 

" All tuneless is the quivering string ; 
No melody can Gabriel bring; 
Mute are its arches, when, above. 
The harps of heaven wake not to love." 

Love inspires our prayers — love going up to 
God, love spreading out its arms to embrace a 
dying world. 



THE END. 



TO TBlE header. 

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